“It was worth more than five quid,” he growled; “when I saw the handcuffs in that fellow’s hand, I felt a cold shiver go down my spine.”
Peter Ruff counted out two banknotes and passed them to his confederate.
“You have earned the money,” he said. “Go and spend it. Perhaps, Violet,” he added, turning towards her, “I have been a little inconsiderate. Come and have dinner with me, and forget it.”
She drew a little sigh.
“You are sure,” she murmured, “that you wouldn’t rather take Maud?”
CHAPTER VI. THE LITTLE LADY FROM SERVIA
Westward sped the little electric brougham, driven without regard to police regulations or any rule of the road: silent and swift, wholly regardless of other vehicles—as though, indeed, its occupants were assuming to themselves the rights of Royalty. Inside, Peter Ruff, a little breathless, was leaning forward, tying his white cravat with the aid of the little polished mirror set in the middle of the dark green cushions. At his right hand was Lady Mary, watching his proceedings with an air of agonised impatience.
“Let me tell you—” she begged.
“Kindly wait till I have tied this and put my studs in,” Peter Ruff interrupted. “It is impossible for me to arrive at a ball in this condition, and I cannot give my whole attention to more than one thing at a time.”