“And yet, sir, such is my intention,” said Sir Brook, placing himself directly in front of him.
“That is a matter very soon settled,” said Balfour, returning to the door and calling out, “Pollard, step down to the lower yard, and send a policeman here.”
Sir Brook heard the order unmoved in manner, and even made way for the servant to pass down the stairs. No sooner, however, was the man out of hearing than he said, “It would be much better, sir, not to render either of us ridiculous. I am Sir Brook Fossbrooke, and I come here to learn at what time it would be his Excellency's pleasure to receive me.”
The calm quiet dignity in which he spoke, even more than the words, had its effect on Balfour, who, with more awkwardness than he would like to have owned, asked Sir Brook to walk in and be seated. “I have had a message for you from his Excellency these three or four days back, and knew not where to find you.”
“Did it never occur to you to try what assistance the police might afford, sir?” said he, with deep gravity.
“One thinks of these generally as a last resource,” said Balfour, coolly, and possibly not sorry to show how imperturbable he could be under a sarcasm.
“And now for the message, sir,” said Fossbrooke.
“I'll be shot if I remember it. Wasn't it something about an election riot? You thrashed a priest, named Malcahy, eh?”
“I opine not, sir,” said Sir Brook, with a faint smile.
“No, no; you are the great man for acclimatization; you want to make the ornithorhynchus as common as the turkey. Am I right?”