Having gazed the limping figure out of sight, the General went back into the house and made for his private den—a cozy apartment crammed with Eastern spoils. There he leisurely selected a cigar and seated himself in a big saddle-bag chair.
"There is something brewing," he growled gently. "I perceive a vibration in the moral atmosphere which quite recalls old days. I wonder what it means?"
[CHAPTER VII—The Men on the Stairs]
The rooms—two in number—occupied by Alec Forsyth in John Street, Adelphi, were in a house let off in bachelor chambers, with the exception of the ground floor, which was used as an office by a firm of wholesale wine-merchants. The young Scotsman's limited income had precluded a more aristocratic locality; and, at any rate, John Street offered the advantage of being within a few minutes' walk of his daily work in Downing Street.
In the daytime, when the tenants were out at their various avocations, the upper part of the dingy old building was deserted, save by the housekeeper in the attics; while the counting-house abutting on the street was all life and bustle. At night the conditions were reversed, the wine-merchant's premises being locked up and silent, and the rooms above occupied.
On the evening of that Monday on which the Duke of Beaumanoir called on the Shermans at the residence of General Sadgrove, Alec was busy in his sitting-room, tearing up papers and preparing generally for his departure to Prior's Tarrant on the morrow. It was past eight, and he had just lit the gas, when the door suddenly opened and Beaumanoir came in.
"Why, Charley—hang it! Duke, I mean—I thought you were in the country!" Alec exclaimed, more astonished by his friend's actions than by his appearance there.
For, after slipping quietly in, Beaumanoir had turned sharp round and loosed the catch of the spring-lock. Not satisfied with that, he also shot home the two old-fashioned bolts with which the door was fitted, top and bottom, and then flung himself into an easy chair, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
"I don't think I was spotted, but it's best to be on the safe side," he muttered. Then aloud: "I came to ask you to give me a shake-down to-night, old chap, on a sofa or anything; only I don't know if it's fair to you; my proximity carries a pretty considerable risk. But I've been—rather worried, and I seem to want company."
Forsyth rose, and laid an affectionate hand on the Duke's shoulder.