“Right,” said Pomeroy, lighting a cigarette. Then, “Dewlap!” he cried. “Berryman!”
“Sir,” came a ready chorus from valet and chauffeur.
“Bring in those things.”
“Very good, sir.”
A moment later, bearing a trunk between them, the two ex-soldiers reached the top of the steps.
“Into the hall for the moment,” said Pomeroy. “They can go upstairs later on.”
“Very good, sir.”
The trunk and its bearers passed in, with Ivan behind, the butler retreating backwards before the cortège after the manner of a chamberlain preceding Royalty.
As they deposited their burden upon a marble pavement, Belinda rose from a chair in all her glory.
“What does this mean?” she demanded, addressing Ivan.