I was lounging about outside the house, wondering what would happen next, when a waiter came out to me bearing a card, which he tendered, bowing low, more in deference to the card, as I thought, than to me.
"Earl of Blackadder" was the name engraved, and written just below in pencil were the words, "would like to speak to Colonel Annesley at once."
"Well, I've no objection," I began, stiffly. I thought the summons a trifle too peremptory. "Where is he?"
The waiter pointed back to the hotel, and I saw a white, evil face glowering at me from a window on the ground floor of the hotel. The very look on it stirred my bile. It was an assumption of superiority, of concentrated pride and exaggerated authority, as though everyone must yield to his lightest wish and humble himself in the dust before him. I resented this, and slipping the card carelessly in my pocket, I nodded to the waiter, who still stood awaiting my reply.
"Will monsieur come?" he asked.
"No. Tell his lordship he will find me here if he wants me. That will do," and I waved him off.
Soon afterwards Lord Blackadder came out. Mahomet came to the mountain. I liked his face less than ever. It wore an angry scowl now; his dark eyes glittered balefully under the close-knit eyebrows, his lips were drawn down, and the curved nose was like the aggressive beak of a bird of prey.
"Colonel Annesley, I understand," he said coldly, contemptuously, just lifting one finger towards the brim of his hat.
"That is my name," I responded, without returning the salute.
"I am Lord Blackadder; you will have had my card. I desired to address you somewhat more privately than this." He looked round the open yard in front of the hotel. "May I hope you will accompany me to my rooms? I have to speak to you on a matter that concerns you very closely."