"Bring some supper at once, please!" Sir Thomas said. "Something light, Mr. Hampson? Oh, very well! Some consommé, Bryce, some devilled oysters—yes, and an omelette afterwards. That will do."
"And the wine, Sir Thomas?"
"Oh, bring some hock and seltzer!"
The man withdrew.
"Excuse me one moment, Mr. Hampson," the baronet said. "I am expecting a rather important telegram. If it has arrived, they will have put it in the library. I will go and see."
He hurried out of the room. Hampson looked round him. The walls were panelled in white, and priceless old sporting prints, full of vivid color and movement, had been let into the panels. A great couch, covered in blue linen, with broad white stripes, was drawn up to the cosy fire, and on the tiger skin which served as a hearthrug a little Japanese spaniel was lying asleep. In a moment or two Sir Thomas returned. He had changed his evening coat for a smoking-jacket of quilted satin, and wore a pair of straw-woven Italian slippers upon his feet.
"Supper won't be a moment," he said, sinking down upon the couch. "I have trained all my people to be quick. But if you are not too tired, will you tell me, or begin to tell me, what you know? This means more to me than you can possibly imagine."
"How shall I begin?"
"Who is that man who appeared in the theatre, and swayed and held it with the force of his words?"
"He is named Joseph Bethune," Hampson answered, "and he is a great personal friend of my own."