THE STEEL EDGE OF THE TRUTH
The manservant, with his plain black clothes and black tie, had entered the room with a deferential little gesture.
“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. There is Lady Arlingford’s reception to-night, ten till twelve, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. I put your clothes out an hour ago.”
Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start.
“All right, Dunster,” he said. “I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. I can get into my clothes.”
The man hesitated.
“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.”
“Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes,” Ennison answered, “and then leave me alone, there’s a good fellow. I’m a little tired.”
The man obeyed his orders noiselessly and then left the room.
Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette.