"Didn't you hear me calling?" grumbled the beadle.
"I heard you calling da Costa, but I naturally imagined it was one of your drinking companions," replied Manasseh severely.
"The Mahamad is waiting for you," faltered the beadle.
"Tell the gentlemen of the Mahamad," said Manasseh, with reproving emphasis, "that I shall do myself the pleasure of being with them presently. Nay, pray don't hurry away, my dear Grobstock," he went on, resuming his place at the German magnate's side—"and so your wife is taking the waters at Tunbridge Wells. In faith, 'tis an excellent regimen for the vapours. I am thinking of sending my wife to Buxton—the warden of our hospital has his country-seat there."
"But you are wanted," murmured Grobstock, who was anxious to escape. He had caught the Schnorrer's eye as its owner sunned himself in the archway, and it held him.
"'Tis only a meeting of the Mahamad I have to attend," he said indifferently. "Rather a nuisance—but duty is duty."
Grobstock's red face became a setting for two expanded eyes.
"I thought the Mahamad was your chief Council," he exclaimed.
"Yes, there are only five of us," said Manasseh lightly, and, while Grobstock gaped incredulous, the Chancellor himself shambled up in pale consternation.
"You are keeping the gentlemen of the Mahamad waiting," he panted imperiously.