“Glad to meet you, Mr. Morton! Hope you liked the performance,” he said, with a smile, which disclosed the whole of a very white set of teeth. “Very fair, wasn’t it? Ha, ha, ha!”
I replied that I had enjoyed it exceedingly, and looked at Mr. Marx, wondering how long he meant to stay. I had taken a sudden but strong dislike to Mr. Isaacs.
“Shall you be very long, Mr. Marx?” I asked.
“I have sent for the carriage,” he answered; “it will be here in ten minutes.”
It seemed to me that there was something a little strange in Mr. Marx’s manner and the way in which he kept glancing towards the door.
Just at that moment someone knocked at the door.
“Come in!” cried Mr. Isaacs.
A lady obeyed his summons and swept into the room with a most unnecessary rustling of silk skirts. Mr. Isaacs welcomed her effusively.
“Miss Fay, your most humble servant!” he exclaimed, bowing low. “Let me introduce two of my friends, Mr. Morton and Mr. Marx.”
The lady put out her ungloved hand, covered with a profusion of rings.