They had by this time reached the end of the passage which led to the coffee-room. Mr Tarleton had succeeded in getting rid of the landlord, but to the Viscount the room seemed strangely full of people. His astonished gaze took in first Miss Milborne, then Sir Montagu Revesby, and lastly Pug, who, having been sleeping stertorously before the parlour fire throughout the late proceedings, had just waddled in to the coffee-room, and now greeted his lordship with a wheezy bark.
It was characteristic of the Viscount that his mind was instantly diverted from the stirring events which had occurred that day. An expression of foreboding entered his face; he stared with repulsion at Pug, and demanded: “Where did that come from?”
“Oh, I brought him!” replied Hero happily. “It’s Pug!”
“I knew it!” said Sherry. “No, dash it, Kitten! I don’t mind Gil’s canary — at least, I do, but I can bear it — but I’ll be hanged if I’ll have an overfed little brute like that in my house! If you want a dog, I’ll give you one, but I warn you, it won’t be a pug!”
“Oh, Sherry, will you?” said Hero. “Well, I do think I should like one. This isn’t mine, you know. He belongs to Lady Saltash, and he is quite odious!”
“Well, why the deuce did you bring him?” Sherry asked. “Can’t see what you can possibly have wanted with a dog when you were eloping!”
“No, and I did not in the least mean to bring him, but I was taking him for an airing when Mr Tarleton abducted me, and somehow he got into the chaise too. Oh, Sherry, this is Mr Tarleton!”
Mr Tarleton had risen rather unsteadily to his feet, and now said with as much dignity as could be expected of a man half-in and half-out of his coat: “Sheringham, if I may have only one word with you alone, I fancy I can explain everything to your satisfaction!”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” Sherry responded cheerfully, shaking hands with him. “I don’t blame you for running off with my wife: did the same thing myself! Come to think of it, you owed me one, for it was my Tiger forked your wallet and purse. Meant to have brought ’em along with me, but what with one thing and another I forgot ’em. Hallo, you’re hurt! How is this?”
Ferdy, who had been staring fixedly at the bowl of reddened water on the table, with the bloodstained napkin beside it, now nudged his cousin. “Know what I think, Sherry? Been a regular turn-up. Someone’s had his cork drawn. Claret flowing copiously. If it was Monty’s cork, good thing! Don’t like him. Never have.”