Lord Cecil did not by any means fully comprehend the man’s meaning even yet.
“What do you want me to do?” he said, gravely. “Ah, I see, you want to take me to prison!”
“Oh, no, no; my lord, certainly not,” said the officer, respectfully. “If your lordship will settle the amounts; the banks are open, and close at hand. We might walk to your lordship’s bank, and you could give me a check.”
“Let me see the paper,” said Lord Cecil; then his face flushed. “I have not one quarter of this in the bank,” he said, quietly.
The man looked rather nonplussed.
“Well, I don’t know what’s to be done,” he said, looking at the pavement with a frown. “Your lordship has got friends—I’ll go anywhere—to your lordship’s rooms, while you communicate with them. Of course, I must have the money. Duty’s duty. As a soldier, your lordship knows that.”
Lord Cecil nodded.
“Come to my rooms,” he said.
The man called a cab, and they got into it and were driven to Clarges street.
To attempt to describe the valet’s face when he saw the kind of person whom his master had brought back with him would be difficult, and quite impossible to picture it when Lord Cecil requested him to get this person breakfast.