"No one." Max blew a cloud of smoke upwards. "You're not the only person with brains, Nick," he observed, with sardonic humour. "But look here! Your friend Mrs. Musgrave is not to be meddled with in this matter. You leave her alone and Hunt-Goring too! He's killing himself by inches with opium, so he won't interfere with anyone for long. And she will prove a useful friend to Noel if allowed to take her own way."
"You really mean to take this lying down?" said Nick.
"It's the easiest course," said Max.
"So far as you are concerned?" Nick abruptly turned in his chair; but his scrutiny was of the briefest. He did not seem to look at Max at all; nor did he apparently expect an answer to his query, for he went on almost immediately. "It's damnable luck for both of you. Old man, are you sure it's all right?"
There was no subtlety in the question. Nick had long since abandoned subtlety in his dealings with Max Wyndham, a fact which indicated that he held him in very high esteem.
Max's response expressed appreciation of the fact. He took his hand from his pocket and carelessly stretched it out. "I am absolutely sure," he said. "Make your mind easy on that point!"
Their hand-grip was silent and brief. It ended the discussion by mutual consent.
At once Max changed the subject. "Is that chap your khit or your valet or what?"
"He is all three combined," said Nick. "Why? Think I work him too hard?"
The Indian showed his teeth in a splendid smile, but said nothing.