“To the ‘Plait’ for an hour,” said Angel.
“Business?”
“Partly; I’m looking for a man who might be there.”
They crossed Piccadilly, and entered a side turning. The second on the left and the first on the right brought them opposite a brightly-lit hotel. From within came the sound of violins. At the little tables with which the spacious bar-room was set about sat laughing women and young men in evening dress. A haze of cigarette smoke clouded the atmosphere, and the music made itself heard above a babel of laughter and talk. They found a corner, and seated themselves.
“You seem to be fairly well known here,” said Jimmy.
“Yes,” replied Angel ruefully, “a jolly sight too well known. You’re not quite a stranger, Jimmy,” he added.
“No,” said the other a little bitterly; “but we’re on different sides of the House, Angel. You’re in the Cabinet, and I’m in the everlasting Opposition.”
“Muffled sobs!” said Angel flippantly. “Pity poor Ishmael who ‘ishes’ for his own pleasure! Pathos for a fallen brother! A silent tear for this magnificent wreck who’d rather be on the rocks than floating any day of the week. Don’t humbug yourself, Jimmy, or I shall be falling on your neck and appealing to your better nature. You’re a thief just as another man is a stamp collector or a hunter. It’s your blooming forte. Hi, Charles, do you ever intend serving me?”
“Yessir; d’reckly, sir.”
Charles bustled up.