The rest of his preparations proceeded with the same smoothness of routine. They went to Birmingham together on the Friday, and kept the steward busy on the Pullman throughout the journey. In Birmingham they had lunch together, diluted with more liquor. By the time they were ready for their visit to the studios of G. Tanfold & Co., Mr, Tanfold estimated that his companion was in an ideal condition to enjoy his experience. On arrival they were informed, most unveraciously, that urgent business had called Mr. Tanfold himself to London, but he had arranged that they should have the free run of the premises. The entertainment offered, it is sufficient to record, was one in which Mr. Tanfold believed he had surpassed himself as an impresario of impropriety.
Mr. Tombs, with remarkable fortune, was able to conclude his business on the Saturday morning, and returned to London on the Sunday. He announced his intention of leaving for Paris on the Tuesday, and they parted with mutual expressions of goodwill. Mr. Tanfold said that he himself would return to London on Monday, and they arranged to lunch together on that day and go on to paint the town red.
When Mr. Tanfold arrived at the Palace Royal Hotel a little before one o'clock on Monday, however, he did not have the air of a man who was getting set to experiment in what could be done with a pot of red paint and the metropolitan skyline. Laying his hat and stick on the table and pulling off his lavender-tinted gloves in Mr. Tombs's suite, he was laconically unresponsive to the younger Tombs's effusive cries of welcome.
"Look here, Tombs," he said bluntly, when he had straightened his heliotrope tie, "there's something you'd better know."
"Tell me all, dear old wombat," said Mr. Tombs, who appeared to have acquired some of the frothier mannerisms of the City during his visit. "What have you done?"
"I haven't introduced myself properly," said his guest brazenly. "I am Gilbert Tanfold."
For a moment the antipodean Tomblet seemed taken aback; and then he grinned good-humouredly.
"Well, you certainly spruced me, Gilbert," he said. "What a joke! So it was really your own studio we went to!"
Mr. Tombs grinned again. He made remarks about Mr. Tanfold's unparalleled sense of humour in terms which were clearly designed to be flattering, but which were too biological in trend to be acceptable in mixed company. Mr. Tanfold, however, was not there to be flattered. He cut his host short with a flick of one well-manicured hand.
"Let's talk business," he said shortly. "I've got a photograph that was taken of you while you were at the studio."