"Hallo, Lance!" he said lamely.
Mr. Gaymer replied, in the deliberate and portentously solemn tones of a man who is three parts drunk,—
"I understand you have got a party on here."
"Yes," said Hughie, endeavouring to edge his visitor through the doorway.
"What I want to say," continued Mr. Gaymer in rising tones, "is that I accuse you of embezzling my sister's property, and I'm going to make things damned hot for you. Yes—you! Go and tell that to your luncheon-party round the corner!" he concluded with a snort. "And—glug—glug-glug!"
By this time he had been judiciously backed into the passage, almost out of ear-shot of those in the room. Simultaneously Mr. Goble's large hand closed upon his mouth from behind, and having thus acquired a good purchase, turned its owner deftly round and conducted him downstairs.
Death-like silence reigned at the luncheon-table. Hughie wondered how much they had heard. Not that it mattered greatly, for Master Lance's accusations, making allowances for alcoholic directness, partook very largely of the nature of those already levelled at Hughie by more conventional deputations.
Before returning to his seat, Hughie crossed to the window and looked down into the street.
Mr. Lance Gaymer was being assisted into a waiting hansom by the kindly hands of Mr. Guy Haliburton.
Hughie, having seen all he expected to see, returned with faltering steps to his duties as a host.