"Excuse me! I saw you talking to my grandson just now. Do you know where the young fool is gone to?"
Crowther turned in his solid, imperturbable fashion, looked at the speaker, and got to his feet.
"I can," he said, with a smile. "He has gone to procure drinks in my honour. He and I are—old friends."
"Oh!" said Sir Beverley, and looked him up and down in a fashion which another man might have found offensive. "And who may you be?"
"My name is Crowther," said the other with simplicity.
Sir Beverley grunted. "That doesn't tell me much. Never heard of you before."
"I daresay not." Crowther was quite unmoved; there was even a hint of humour in his tone. "Your grandson is probably a man of many friends."
"Why should you say that?" demanded Sir Beverley suspiciously.
"Won't you sit down?" said Crowther.
Sir Beverley hesitated a moment, then abruptly complied with the suggestion. Crowther followed his example, and they faced one another across the little table.