Lady Cynthia leaned back in a corner of the car.
Through half-closed eyes she watched the two men on their way down the crowded thoroughfare—Sir Timothy tall, thin as a lath, yet with a certain elegance of bearing; the man at his side shorter, his hands thrust into the pockets of his coat, his manner one of subservience. She wondered languidly as to their errand in this unsavoury neighbourhood. Then she closed her eyes altogether and wondered about many things.
Sir Timothy and his companion walked along the crowded, squalid street without speech. Presently they turned to the right and stopped in front of a public-house of some pretensions.
“This is the place?” Sir Timothy asked.
“Yes, sir!”
Both men entered. Sir Timothy made his way to the counter, his companion to a table near, where he took a seat and ordered a drink. Sir Timothy did the same. He was wedged in between a heterogeneous crowd of shabby, depressed but apparently not ill-natured men and women. A man in a flannel shirt and pair of shabby plaid trousers, which owed their precarious position to a pair of worn-out braces, turned a beery eye upon the newcomer.
“I'll 'ave one with you, guvnor,” he said.
“You shall indeed,” Sir Timothy assented.
“Strike me lucky but I've touched first time!” the man exclaimed. “I'll 'ave a double tot of whisky,” he added, addressing the barman. “Will it run to it, guvnor?”
“Certainly,” was the cordial reply, “and the same to your friends, if you will answer a question.”