"A telegram, sir."
"Eh? Now who in the world—Matters hasn't burnt down Meriton, I hope?"
He opened the telegram and walked with it to the nearest of the electric lamps; read it, and stood pondering.
"Louis, when does the new night-express leave for Paris?"
"In twenty-five minutes, sir."
"Then I've a mind to catch it. Put up a travelling-suit in my bag. I can get out of these clothes in the train. You had better pack the rest, pay the bill, and follow to-morrow."
"If you wish it, sir. But if I may suggest—"
"Yes?"
"In twenty minutes I can do all that easily, and book the sleeping-berths too. I suggest, sir, you will find it more comfortable, having me on the train."
"Admirable man—hurry up, then!"