“Damn you, Vidal, I believe you have killed him!” Rupert said angrily.
“I’m very nearly sure of it, dear uncle,” said the Marquis.
Mr. Comyn, on his knees beside the fallen man, looked up. “A surgeon should be fetched,” he said. “I do not think that life is extinct.”
“I must be more drunk than I knew, then,” remarked his lordship. “I’m sorry, Charles; I meant to make the place habitable for you.”
Lord Cholmondley started towards him. “Devil take you, Vidal, you’d best be gone. You’ve done enough for one night.”
“I thought so, certainly,” said the Marquis. “Mr. Comyn apparently disagrees.” He glanced at the clock. “Hell and damnation, it’s past five already!”
“You’re surely not driving to Newmarket now?” cried Captain Wraxall, appalled by his callousness.
“Why not?” said Vidal coolly.
Captain Wraxall sought for words, and found none. The Marquis turned on his heel and went out.