Mr Riggs opened his mouth to retort, but as he did so his eyes fell upon the blue envelope.
“Poor old Jim—poor old Jim Brood!” he groaned. “We mustn't lose a minute, Danbury. He needs us, old pal. We must start relief exp'ition' fore mornin'. Not a minute to be lost, Jones—not a——”
The heavy front door closed with a bang at that instant, and the sound of footsteps, came from the hall—a quick, firm tread that had decision in it.
Jones cast a furtive, nervous glance over his shoulder.
“I'm sorry to have Mr Frederic see you like this,” he said, biting his lip. “He hates it so.”
The two old men made a commendable effort to stand erect, but no effort to stand alone. They linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder.
“Show him in,” said Mr Riggs magnificently.
“Now we'll fin' out wass in telegram off briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, straddling his legs a little farther apart in order to declare a staunch front.
“It's worth waiting up for,” said Mr Riggs.
“Abs'lutely,” said his staunch friend.