“I see. Something I’m not to know about. Another conspiracy against me, eh? Here, give me that brandy.” He nearly filled his tumbler with it, and drank it in quick, excited ugly gulps. He rose to his feet and shook a skinny fist. “You two fools! Do you think I can’t see? Smith has bought you. All the jabber about protecting me was a farce, and Lechworthy’s letter was a put-up thing between you. If I go, I die. If I stay, I die. Pretty thing, ain’t it? You swindled me over the lizards, Pryce, and thought I didn’t know. But, my God, I haven’t got a friend, and I know that! You needn’t look so angry, Sir John. You’ve been bowled out before. You’re used to it. Well, all right. I go to-night. Good-bye all! I’m off to my own room—special leave from King Smith to pack the shirts I’ll never wear. Good-bye! We’ll meet in hell.”
He flung himself out of the room, across the hall, and up the stairs. Lord Charles Baringstoke was seated in the hall, drinking through a straw a mixture of crême-de-menthe and crushed ice. He observed Mr Bassett, and he turned to Mr Sainton—the member who was paying for the drinks.
“See our Mr damned Bassett? Well, you know, I ain’t the champion gold cup at the beauty show myself, but I never did know anyone look quite so blessed ugly as that chap does. Might use him to test iron girders, eh? Mean he might grin at them, and if they’d stand that, they’d stand anything.”
In the room which Bassett had just left Sir John Sweetling controlled his rage with difficulty.
“Look here, Pryce,” said Sir John. “We’ve done the best we can for the man, but this lets me out. If I see him again before he goes I—I can’t answer for what will happen.”
Dr Soames Pryce rolled a cigarette. “The beauty of being a doctor,” he said, “is that you can’t lose your wool with your case—whatever he, or she, does or says. Bassett, under pressure, has become a case. And, as I don’t think it safe to leave him alone, I’ll hop upstairs after him. See you presently.”
On the stairs Dr Pryce heard the report of a revolver. He arrived just ten seconds too late.
The King and Mr Lechworthy dined alone that night. Hilda discovered, rather suddenly, that she was absolutely worn out with the long day. Tiva and Ioia, watching her, spoke one or two sentences together in the native tongue. Then Tiva explained to Hilda in English that she and Ioia had spread their sleeping-mats on the verandah just against Hilda’s window. If Hilda wanted them at any time in the night she had only to go to the window and speak, and they would be with her at once. Hilda thanked them, but she was sure she would not need them. She left with her uncle her apologies to the King.
Mr Lechworthy’s dress was just precisely what he would have worn in the evening in London. The King wore a tropical evening suit of white drill; he had ridden up from the office and changed his clothes at the palace. The two men dined early—a brief and tasteful dinner composed principally of native dishes. And then Lechworthy filled his pipe, and they took their coffee on the verandah, and talked long and seriously.