“If either of those guys comes here again,” said Jones to the acolyte, “call an officer—I mean a constable.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“I wonder how many more people I will have to fling out of this house,” said he to himself, as he returned to the smoking room. “My God, what a mess that chap Rochester must have made all round. Bar bummers like those! Heu!”
He ordered the ink to be cleared up, and then he sent for Mr. Church. He was excited.
“Church,” said he. “I’ve shot out two more of that carrion. You know all the men I have been fool enough to know. If they come here again tell the servants not to let them in.”
But he had another object in sending for Church. “Where’s my cheque book?” he asked.
Church went to the bureau and opened a lower drawer.
“I think you placed it here, my Lord.” He produced it.
When he was gone Jones opened the book; it was one of Coutt’s.
He knew his banker now as well as his solicitor. Then he sat down, and taking Rochester’s note from his pocket began to study the handwriting and signature.