"I don't know. It looked like being about that, you know."
"It was very exactly that," admitted Iver.
"Rather a surprise to find our friend the Major going into business with you."
"He'll be useful, I think, and—well, I'm short of help." He was eying Harry now, but he said no more about the morning's transaction till they reached the club.
"Perhaps we shall find Neeld here," he remarked, as they went in.
They did find Neeld, and also Lord Southend, the latter gentleman in a state of disturbance about his curry. It was not what any man would seriously call a curry; it was no more than a fortuitous concurrence of mutton and rice.
"It's an extraordinary thing," he observed to Iver, "that whenever Wilmot Edge is away, the curries in this club go to the devil—to the devil. And he's always going off somewhere, confound him!"
"He can't be expected to stay at home just to look after your curry," Iver suggested.
"I suppose he's in South America, or South Africa, or South somewhere or other out of reach. Waiter!" The embarrassed servant came. "When is Colonel Edge expected back?"
"In a few weeks, I believe, my Lord."