Mr. Coulson got up.
“Not I!” he said. “I am going to douse my head in some cold water. That must have been the strongest brandy and soda that was ever brewed, to send me off like that.”
His friend laughed as he helped him out on to the deck.
“I shouldn’t grumble at it, if I were you,” he said carelessly. “It saved you from a bad crossing.”
Mr. Coulson washed his face and hands in the smoking room lavatory, and was so far recovered, even, as to be able to drink a cup of coffee before they reached the harbor. At Folkestone he looked everywhere for his friend, but in vain. At Charing Cross he searched once more. The little dark gentleman, with the distinguished air and the easy, correct speech, who had mixed his brandy and soda, had disappeared.
“And I owe the little beggar for half that cabin,” Mr. Coulson thought with a sensation of annoyance. “I wonder where he’s hidden himself!”
CHAPTER XIX. A MOMENTOUS QUESTION
The Duke paused, in his way across the crowded reception rooms, to speak to his host, Sir Edward Bransome, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.
“I have just written you a line, Bransome,” he said, as they shook hands. “The chief tells me that he is going to honor us down at Devenham for a few days, and that we may expect you also.”