"Can't!" cried Marchmont, springing up as the sound of shouts and clanging bells fell upon his ear. "There's a fire! See you later!" and he dashed out of the club and was gone.
Cecil sank back in his chair fairly paralysed.
"Good heavens! Suppose any of the company should be suspected or arrested! Supposing—"
"A gentleman to see you, sir," said a page at his elbow.
"Show him in!" cried Banborough, fearing the worst, as he read Tybalt Smith's name on the card.
There was no need to have given the message. The actor was at the page's heels, dishevelled, distraught.
"Do you know we're taken for Spanish spies?" he gasped.
"Yes, yes; I've just heard—"
"Not one of your companions—Spotts, Kerrington, or Mill?"