"Dining?" he croaked. "Dining?"
In a deliberate, imperturbable tone a clock upon the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour, and the laugh snapped off short. The next moment the man had Lyveden's arm in a grip of iron.
"Listen," he breathed. "I'm broke … ruined … got to run for it. Couldn't stand gaol at my age. It ain't pretty, I know, but I'm fifty-nine, Lyveden, fifty-nine." The tense utterance broke into a whimper. "An'—an' that's too old for prison, Lyveden, an' they wouldn't give me a chance. The lawyers 'd make it out bad. You can gamble with others' money as long as you win, Lyveden, but you mustn't lose … mustn't ever lose. There's a law against that."
All the soldier in Anthony came to his aid.
"Are you going now, sir?" The other nodded, "Shall I get you a taxi?"
"Yes." Mr. Slumper jerked a contemptuous head at the ceiling. "She'll have to go with me," he added thickly. "Can't leave the old fool."
"I'll keep your keys, sir," said Anthony, "to let myself in."
With that he was gone.
Mrs. Slumper was in the midst of a very delicate operation, to wit, the obliteration of her natural complexion—obsequies which not even her maid was permitted to attend. Consequently she was anything but pleased when her husband entered the room. Such procedure was out of all order and convenience. That he came in suddenly and without first knocking upon the door was insufferable. She turned herself round on her seat, bristling….
There was no time for a scene, and, when Mrs. Slumper hurled herself against Necessity, she fell back bruised and broken.