“You knew what those letters meant! This is a plot! Where is Skinner’s report?”
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows. He signaled to the head-waiter.
“Be so good as to continue the service of my dinner,” he ordered. “The champagne is a trifle too chilled. You can take it out of the cooler.”
The man bowed, with a curious side glance at Horser.
“Certainly, your Grace!”
Horser was almost speechless with anger.
“Are you going to answer my questions?” he demanded thickly.
“I have no particular objection to doing so,” Mr. Sabin answered, “but until you can sit up and compose yourself like an ordinary individual, I decline to enter into any conversation with you at all.”
Again Mr. Horser raised his voice, and the glare in his eyes was like the glare of a wild beast.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”