“And that’ll be about all of that,” remarked the Honourable Tony. A peculiarly ingratiating smile curved the corners of his lips, and he took both hands from his pockets and made an expressive gesture toward the long windows above the water. “A little more chatter like that and out you go to the crocodiles. Come on now, cut along like a nice chap—my head’s buzzing no end, and I’m mad for sleep. I’ll have my tea at seven on the tick. And some of that jolly sticky preserve——”
The dark, troubled face was lit suddenly by a smile, gleaming white as a benediction, grave and tender and indulgent.
“Where you go,” said Ghundi, “there may I be to serve you! Farewell, little master.”
He turned back to the dancing lights below him with a sharp word of command, and as quietly as he had come was gone, passing silently down the rickety steps into the night. There was a swift murmur of protest from the waiters, quelled; the light shuffle of feet; the rustle of parted leaves—silence. The Honourable Tony stood for a moment listening for any echo of the small dying sounds—whistled the opening bars of “Where Do We Go From Here, Boys?” twice over with fine accuracy and restraint, shoved open the bedroom door, and yielded himself unreservedly to joyous retrospection.
“My word, fairly neat, eh, Daisy? What price the bit about the handkerchief? And the buzzing head, what? I swear I had no idea I’d be so good. Fancy what a loss to the stage—or Scotland Yard—no, no, more sport keeping out of Scotland Yard; well, then, so that’s that. Now what?”
There was a small sound that might have been a shiver, and a whisper, strange and lonely as a dream, answered him.
“Now then, farewell, Honable Tonee.”
“Farewell? Thinking of leaving me, Daisy?”
“Yes. Now I am thinkin’—of leavin’ you.”
“My poor kid, you’ll shiver your pretty teeth out if you keep up like this; I swear I ought to be drawn and quartered for a thumping brute. After all, it isn’t as much of a lark for you as it is for me, is it? Now just what are we going to do about you?”