The Honourable Tony moved more swiftly than Ahmet. He laid one hand on the handle of the bedroom door, but he did not turn it.
“I’m absolutely sick over making such an ass of myself,” he said with pleasing candour. “But I do honestly feel too rotten bad to last out even a hand. I’ll be fit as a fiddle in the morning, and entirely at Your Majesty’s disposal; but for to-night I’m going to ask you to excuse me.”
“But to-night we will most certainly not excuse you,” His Imperial Majesty replied amiably. “No, no, on the contrary. Rather not, as you say. To-night, Excellency, we are quite through. We have been culpably lenient and indulgent in the past; we have overlooked one hundred stupid impertinences and five hundred impertinent stupidities, but your bridge—your bridge was impeccable and we have long desired to perfect our game. Now, however, you outreach our patience. Stand aside, I beg you. When Ahmet fetches your Excellency’s coat and your Excellency’s boots, he will also fetch your Excellency’s lady.”
The Honourable Tony gave a shout of astounded delight.
“My hat!” he cried. “But this is simply gorgeous. All this time that I’ve been ragging you you’ve been plotting a bloody revenge?”
“Revenge,” replied His Imperial Majesty, with an impatient flick of the white gloves, “is an incident. I wish the woman. Stand aside!”
“It’s a dream,” decided the Honourable Tony, cocking his head with Epicurean satisfaction. “No, by Heaven, it’s better than a dream. Just what are you going to do if I don’t stand aside?”
“Shoot you where you stand. Come, come—we are over-patient.”
The Honourable Tony sighed beatifically, as one whose cup of joy was full to overflowing.
“Oh, come now, if you ask me, you’re dashed impatient. Shooting me down in this damn casual way—what d’you think the British Government’s going to make of it?”