“Here, who is waiting?” cried the colonel.
One of the servants appeared, with half-washed face, but clean hands, and a moustache burned to a stubble.
“Go and see if Lieutenant Lacey’s man is there, and send him up to his master’s quarters. Let him say that I shall be glad to know how he is; but he is not to be disturbed if he is asleep.”
“Beg pardon, sir; not asleep.”
“How do you know?” said the colonel, sharply.
“I am Mr Lacey’s servant, sir. He went home with two ladies, sir, about two o’clock, sir, and hasn’t come back.”
“Then he can’t be very bad!”
“Yes, he can!” said a deep voice, and the gentleman in question marched up the room—blackened, with his hair scorched from the side of his head, and one arm in a sling formed of a lady’s silk scarf. “I’m horribly bad! For goodness’ sake, give me a drink!”
Almost as he uttered the words, Jerry handed him a frothing glass of brandy and soda, which he had hurried out to prepare as soon as he saw his master’s exhausted state.
“Hah!” ejaculated Lacey, as he set down the glass and then sank into an easy-chair.