"By all means. About twelve."
"Then that's settled!" observed Peake, with an air of profound satisfaction. "I positively must have a whiskey, Radwalader. I'm quite exhausted. I haven't talked so much business in a year."
For an hour the conversation was general, and presently thereafter Radwalader was alone. For a time he stood by the salon table, idly fingering a paper-cutter and scowling. Then he stepped noiselessly to the door, listened briefly but intently, and abruptly flung it open and looked out into the antichambre.
"Not this time!" observed Jules laconically, from the dining-room beyond, where he was languidly polishing wine-glasses.
"I'm glad to see you profit by experience," retorted Radwalader. "Come here."
The faithful servitor came slowly across the hallway, glanced about the empty salon, helped himself liberally from the whiskey decanter, swallowed the raw spirit at a gulp, and flung himself heavily into a chair.
"Fire away!" he remarked. "I hope it's something worth while. I don't mind saying I'm hard up."