He had not far to go to reach his goal, and he was fortunate enough to find that the quarry had not yet left the house, although a chair had been called for to carry him to an evening party, his valet informed the Viscount.
“You need not trouble to announce me,” Sherry said, mounting the stairs to the first floor. “I’ll announce myself!”
The valet, perceiving nothing unusual in this, bowed, and retired again to the nether regions. Sherry continued on his way to the front parlour, and entered without ceremony.
Sir Montagu, who was dressed for a ball, was adjusting the folds of his cravat in the mirror, and it was in this mirror that his eyes met Sherry’s. For an instant he did not move, then he turned, smiling urbanely, and stretching out his hand. “Why, Sherry!” he said caressingly. “You young rascal, you gave me quite a start!”
“Did I?” said Sherry, ignoring the outstretched hand.
“Indeed you did! But you are always a welcome visitor, as I hope you know! What fortune did you have at the races?”
“I’ve not come to talk to you about the races.”
Sir Montagu’s brows rose. He said in a chiding tone: “You sound out of reason cross, my dear boy! Now, what has happened to put you in one of your miffs?”
“This has happened!” Sherry said, a very ugly look in his eye. “I find that someone — someone, Revesby! — has been trying to do my wife a mischief while I’ve been away from home!”
“Well, that is certainly very shocking, Sherry, but what has it to do with me?”