“What doctor’s that?”
“Soames Pryce. On the committee here, and a pretty tough proposition too. The girl fell ill—very ill—rotten. Pryce pulled her through and is stopping on. He’s got Lechworthy in his pocket to do what he likes with, they tell me.”
“I see,” said Pentwin. “Well, things being so, I shan’t bother about the girl.”
To do Pentwin justice he had never in the least bothered about the girl. He knew that he would need shortly to communicate with a person in the King’s house, and he wished to know how to do it, but that person would not be Hilda Auriol. He now permitted himself to be initiated by Lord Charles Baringstoke into the mysteries of lizard-racing, and took his losses with equanimity. He won them back, and more too, at bridge that evening, and had the honour of being congratulated on his game by the great Sir John Sweetling himself.
“A very pleasant, cheery little fellow,” said Sir John when Pentwin had gone up to bed. “Self-made man, I should say. Not much education or manners to boast of. But he’s unpretentious and good-hearted, and his bridge is really excellent.” Nobody values unpretentiousness more highly than the incurably pretentious.
Pentwin occupied the room which had been Bassett’s. He had heard the story of Bassett, but he was not a nervous man. Alone in his own room, his air of careless cheerfulness vanished. He looked quite serious, but not in the least depressed. He had the air of a man playing a difficult game, but a man who had played difficult games before and with success.
From his breast-pocket he took a small canvas envelope, which contained all the papers that he had brought with him, including a wad of Bank of England notes and a proof of his real identity. From the envelope he took a sheet of memoranda, and added to them with a sharp-pointed, indelible pencil in a microscopic writing. He wrote slowly, though he was familiar with the cipher which he was using, and replaced the paper in the envelope.
In pyjamas and slippers he paced up and down the room. Through the open window he could see high up in the distance a tangle of lights among dark trees, where the King’s house stood.
“Well,” he said to himself, as he had often said before, “one must see how things work out.” He placed under his pillow the canvas envelope, a revolver, and a leather bag containing twenty-eight sovereigns and some odd silver. Then he put out his lamp and got into bed.