“I don’t mind if I do. But I’ve taken a curious liking for rolled cigarettes. Ah! I thought so.” He opened the tobacco jar and sniffed at it, searched around the articles on the table, then, “How disappointing! Nothing but Algy’s dreadful pipes. You don’t happen to have any rice-papers do you?”
Hammersley was lighting his own cigarette at the brazier.
“No. Sorry,” he replied laconically.
Rizzio leaned beside him against the edge of the table.
“Strange. I thought I saw you making a cigarette in the dining-room.”
Hammersley’s face brightened. “Oh, yes, Byfield. Byfield has rice-papers.”
“I’d rather have yours,” he said quietly.
The Honorable Cyril looked up.
“Mine, old chap? I thought I told you I hadn’t any.”
Rizzio smiled amiably.