“He was to have arrived yesterday,” Lady Mary remarked. “We sent to the station twice.”
“I suppose,” Rochester said, “that even to gratify the impatience of an expectant house-party, it is not possible to quicken the slow process of the law. If you look at the morning papers, you will see that he was at the Central Criminal Court, trying some case or other, all day yesterday. The man who pleads ‘Not Guilty,’ and who pays for his defence, expects to be heard out to the bitter end. It is really only natural.”
Saton, who had been left alone in his corner, rose suddenly to his feet and came into the circle. He handed his cup to his hostess, and turned toward Rochester.
“You were speaking of judges?” he remarked.
Rochester nodded.
“In a few moments,” he said, “you will probably meet the cleverest one we have upon the English bench. Without his robe and wig, some people find him insignificant. Personally, I must confess that I never feel his eyes upon me without a shiver. They say that he never loses sight of a fact or forgets a face.”
“And what is the name of this wonderful person?” Saton asked.
“Lord Guerdon,” Rochester answered. “Even though you have spent so little time in England of late years, you must have heard of him.”
The curtains were suddenly thrown aside, and a footman entered announcing the newly-arrived guest. From the hall beyond came the sound of a departing motor, and the clatter of luggage being brought in. The footman stood on one side.
“Lord Guerdon!” he announced.