I then got into bed and, full of excitement though the day had been for me, slept soundly till morning.
It was five minutes past nine when I entered the great salon of the hotel and looked round for Lord Langerdale.
My search was not a long one. He was sitting alone at a table laid for three in one of the deep recesses, with a little pile of letters and a newspaper before him. Directly he saw me he pushed them away and held out his hand.
“Good-morning!” he said pleasantly. “I’m glad to see you’re so punctual. You’re not in a hurry for breakfast for a few minutes, are you?”
“Not at all,” I answered, taking the chair which he pushed towards me.
“That’s right. My wife will be down in a quarter of an hour, and we’ll wait for her, if you don’t mind.”
I bowed my assent, murmuring that I should be delighted, which was perfectly true.
Lord Langerdale turned a little round in his chair so as to face me and began at once:
“I am rather a blunt sort of man, Mr. Morton—we Irish generally are, you know—and I like to go straight at a thing. Will you tell me your mother’s maiden name?”
“I would with pleasure if I knew it,” I answered readily; “but I don’t.”