He paused. His audience was not listening; he felt it intuitively. Mr. Minot sat with his eyes on the Lileth. In the bow of that handsome boat a red light had been waved three times.
"Mr. Trimmer," Minot said, "your tales are more interesting than the classics." He stood. "Some other time I hope to hear a continuation of them. Just at present Lord Harrowby—or Mr. if you prefer—is waiting to hear what arrangement I have made with you. You must pardon me."
"I can talk as we walk along," said Trimmer, and proved it. In the middle of the deserted plaza they separated. At the dark stage door of the opera-house Trimmer sought his proposition.
"Who d'yer mean?" asked the lone stage-hand there.
"George, Lord Harrowby," insisted Mr. Trimmer.
"Oh—that bum actor. Seen him going away a while back with two men that called for him."
"Bum actor!" cried Trimmer indignantly. He stopped. "Two men—who were they?"
The stage-hand asked profanely how he could know that, and Mr. Trimmer hurriedly departed for the side-street boarding-house where he and his fallen nobleman shared a suite.
About the same time Dick Minot blithely entered Lord Harrowby's apartments in the Hotel de la Pax.
"Well," he announced, "you can cheer up. Little George is painlessly removed. He sleeps to-night aboard the good ship Lileth, thanks to the efforts of Martin Wall, assisted by yours truly." He stopped, and stared in awe at his lordship. "What's the matter with you?" he inquired.