“I will take your note,” said Kenelm.
“There it is; give it into the hands of the person it is addressed to,—Mr. Herbert Compton.”
CHAPTER IV.
KENELM took his way to the theatre, and inquired of the door-keeper for Mr. Herbert Compton. That functionary replied, “Mr. Compton does not act to-night, and is not in the house.”
“Where does he lodge?”
The door-keeper pointed to a grocer’s shop on the other side of the way, and said tersely, “There, private door; knock and ring.”
Kenelm did as he was directed. A slatternly maid-servant opened the door, and, in answer to his interrogatory, said that Mr. Compton was at home, but at supper.
“I am sorry to disturb him,” said Kenelm, raising his voice, for he heard a clatter of knives and plates within a room hard by at his left, “but my business requires to see him forthwith;” and, pushing the maid aside, he entered at once the adjoining banquet-hall.
Before a savoury stew smelling strongly of onions sat a man very much at his ease, without coat or neckcloth,—a decidedly handsome man, his hair cut short and his face closely shaven, as befits an actor who has wigs and beards of all hues and forms at his command. The man was not alone; opposite to him sat a lady, who might be a few years younger, of a somewhat faded complexion, but still pretty, with good stage features and a profusion of blond ringlets.