“I shall find you at the ‘Bush?’” he said.
“Yes,” replied Jack, and was leaving the room when Stephen rose and followed him.
“Good-night, my dear Jack,” he said. “Will you not shake hands on—on such an occasion?”
Jack strode to the door and opened it without reply, then turned and, as if with an effort, took the hand which Stephen had kept extended.
“Good-night,” he said, dropping the cold fingers, and strode out.
Stephen looked after him a moment with his meek, long-suffering expression of face changed into a malignant smile of triumph, and his hand went up to his breast pocket.
“Good-night, beggar!” he murmured, and closed the door.
Mr. Hudsley was still standing by the library-table, toying absently with the keys, a thoughtful frown on his brow, which did not grow any lighter as Stephen entered, making great play with the pocket-handkerchief.
“I think I also may go now, Mr. Stephen,” he said. “Nothing more can be done to-night. I will be here in the morning with my clerk.”
“I suppose nothing more can be done. You have sealed up all papers and jewels? I am particularly anxious that nothing shall be left informal.”