“Go it, old chap,” said Tom; “never mind the H’s.”
“Tom, be silent.”
“All right!”
“I think we need no preliminaries, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship. “Perhaps you will favour me by reading a few notes from your diary.”
“Thank you, my lady, yes, certainly,” said the new arrival, taking out a large flat pocket-book, and then getting into difficulties with his gloves and hat, setting the latter down upon a chair and putting the former in his pocket, then altering his mind, and taking the gloves out of his pocket, dropping one, and putting the other in his hat, which he took up and placed under the chair instead of upon it. Then he had to pick up the stray glove and put it in his pocket, evidently feeling uneasy directly after because he had not put it in his hat, but not liking to make a fresh alteration.
He now coughed behind the pocket-book very respectfully, opened it, turned over a few leaves, drew out a pencil, and laid it across, so as not to lose the place, coughed again, and said—
“Your ladyship would like me to begin at the beginning?”
“Certainly, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship with dignity; and then with Maude sitting with her eyes half-closed, Tom walking up and down the room, and Lord Barmouth looking very much troubled and caressing his leg, the visitor coughed again, and began in a low subdued tone indicative of the secrecy of his mission.
“‘Thursday, twelft. Called into Lady Barmouth’s’”—no mention was made of Lord Barmouth whatever—“‘Portland Place. Private inquiry. No expense to be spared.’”
“I think you may omit all that part, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship, graciously.