“I regret infinitely, but none,” Rule answered. “I must—I positively must accompany my wife.”
Sir Roland went sadly back to Pall Mall, where he found the Viscount kicking his heels impatiently. “No good, Pel,” he said. “Did what I could—no moving him.”
“The devil fly away with the fellow!” said the Viscount wrathfully. “What in thunder ails him? Here we have the whole affair planned out as snug as you please, and he must needs ruin all by taking it into his head to join my party! Damme, I won’t have him in my party!”
Sir Roland rubbed his chin thoughtfully with the knob of his cane. “Trouble is, Pel, you haven’t got a party,” he said.
The Viscount, who had cast himself into a chair, said irritably: “What the hell does that matter?”
“Does matter,” insisted Sir Roland. “Here’s Rule joining you tonight, and I told him he wouldn’t like the party—said they were queer people—hoping to put him off, you know—and if you don’t arrange a party—well, you see what I mean, Pel?”
“Well, if that don’t beat all!” said the Viscount indignantly. “It ain’t enough for me to waste the whole day planning this damned affair, I have to get a party together as well just to fall in with your silly tale! Burn it we don’t want a party! Where am I to find a lot of queer people? Tell me that!”
“Meant it for the best, Pel,” said Sir Roland placatingly. “Meant it for the best! Must be any number of queer people in town—know there are—Club’s full of them.”
“But they ain’t friends of mine!” replied the Viscount. “You can’t go round the club asking a lot of queer-looking strangers to come to Vauxhall with you. Besides, what should we do with them when we got ’em there?”
“Give them supper,” said Sir Roland. “While they have supper we slip off—get the brooch—come back—ten to one no one notices.”