“Then you have heard of my nephew’s disappearance?” demanded Lord Lionel.
“Everyone has heard of it,” smiled Sir Timothy. “Yes! Thanks to the folly of Gilly’s steward, who, I find, could think of nothing better to do than to spread the news at White’s! Now, we are old friends, Wainfleet, and I look to you to tell me what is being said in town! For what I hear I don’t like!”
“I wonder why I did not tell my man to deny me?” mused Sir Timothy. “I never listen to gossip, you know. Really, I do not think I can assist you!”
“You listen to nothing else!” retorted Lord Lionel.
Sir Timothy looked at him in melancholy wonder. “I suppose I must have liked you once,” he said plaintively. “I like very few people nowadays; in fact, the number of persons whom I cordially dislike increases almost hourly.”
“All that is nothing to the matter!” declared his lordship. “There is a deal of damned whispering going on in the dubs, and I look to you to tell me what it is I may have to fight. What are the fools saying about my nephew?”
Sir Timothy sighed. “The most received theory, as I apprehend, is that he has been murdered,” he replied calmly.
“Go on!” commanded Lord Lionel. “By my son?”
Sir Timothy winced. “My dear Lionel!” he protested. “Surely we need not waste our time in discussion of absurdities?”
“I am one who likes to see his way!” said his lordship. “If I have to remain here a week, you shall tell me the whole!”