In ordinary circumstances he could have picked his man out anywhere, but in rain all men look alike. He could have dashed across the street and rushed from room to room of the Grand Hotel.
His self-restraint was rewarded.
Late in the afternoon Lord Randolph came to the window. The flashing waterproofs and scurrying umbrellas were a surprise to him, and he knitted his brows in annoyance.
By-and-by his face was convulsed with laughter.
He drew a chair to the window and stood on it, that he might have a better view of the pavement beneath.
For some twenty minutes he remained there smacking his thighs, his shoulders heaving with glee.
Andrew could not see what it was, but he formulated a theory.
Heavy blobs of rain that had gathered on the window-sill slowly released their hold from time to time and fell with a plump on the hats of passers-by. Lord Randolph was watching them.
Just as they were letting go he shook the window to make the wayfarers look up. They got the rain-drops full in the face, and then he screamed.
About six o'clock Andrew paid his bill hurriedly and ran downstairs. Lord Randolph had come to the window in his greatcoat. His follower waited for him outside. It was possible that he would take a hansom and drive straight to the House, but Andrew had reasons for thinking this unlikely. The rain had somewhat abated. Lord Randolph came out, put up his umbrella, and, glancing at the sky for a moment, set off briskly up St. Martin's Lane.