"After that—I don't know, Allan."
Aunt Mary came into the room, distress written plainly in her plump face. No misstep of the peerage was beyond Aunt Mary's forgiveness. She took Harrowby's hand.
"I'm so sorry, your lordship," she said. "Most unfortunate. But I'm sure it will all be cleared away in time—"
Mr. Huntley made it a point to interrupt. He stood at the door, watch in hand.
"Come on," he said. "We've got to start."
Harrowby followed the ladies from the room. In the lobby Spencer Meyrick joined them. His lordship shook hands with Aunt Mary, with Mr. Meyrick—then he turned to the girl.
"Good-by, Cynthia," he said unhappily. He took her slim white hand in his. Then he turned quickly and started with Huntley for the door.
It was at this point that Mr. Minot, his cigar and his cogitations finished, entered upon the scene.
"Just a minute," he said to Mr. Huntley.
"Not another minute," remarked Huntley with decision. "Not for the King of England himself. We got just fifteen of 'em left to catch that train, and if I know San Marco hackmen—"