“I believe Sir Leward thought that you might dislike having a uniformed officer sent here, sir.”
“So I should, by Gad! Damned thoughtful of him; damned thoughtful! Why didn’t he come himself? What the devil does he want to know? Why should I be sent for to Scotland Yard like a . . . like a . . .”
The General, finding no adequate simile, blew out his cheeks and snorted. The secretary apparently thought that these questions were rhetorical and required no answer; at any rate he gave none. After a moment’s thought, Sir Hunter stumped out of the Board Room and into the small office shared by the Manager and Secretary.
“Captain Wraile coming in this afternoon?” he enquired.
Miss Saverel looked up quickly but it was Mr. Blagge who answered.
“No sir, he never comes on Mondays; he has a Board-meeting in the afternoon.”
Sir Hunter stood irresolute.
“Anything I can do, sir?” asked Mr. Blagge.
“No, no; nothing, nothing,” exclaimed the Chairman testily. “I’ll attend to it myself. Damned embusqué!” he added irrelevantly as he returned to the Board Room. Taking his hat, coat, and umbrella, he stalked out of the room without a word to Sir Leward’s messenger, but having slammed the door almost in the latter’s face, presently opened it again.
“Give you a lift back,” he said gruffly.