“Lord Denton” and “Karlbeck” kept staring at him with puzzled, almost incredulous faces.
“Did you find your friend on the wire?” finally ventured “Lord Denton,” leaning across the table toward him.
“No; it was another gentleman speaking for him,” smiled Edestone, “a mere visitor to England like myself. I took the liberty of asking him to join us, but he declined. He is, I fancy, leaving the country very shortly—probably going to Berlin.”
A little gasp from behind him caused him to turn in his seat. It came from the hotel proprietor who, entering the room by the rear door, stood rooted in amazement at the sight of Edestone, his jaw dropping, his eyes as big as saucers.
Edestone regarded him a moment; then turned to his host.
“What silly-looking waiters you have in this hotel, Rebener,” he said. “That fellow yonder doesn’t appear to have brains enough to be even a German spy.”
The real waiter, overhearing this compliment to his employer, clapped his hand over his mouth and dived for the pantry, just managing to get through the swinging door before he exploded.
The self-satisfied Bombiadi also overheard, and although he endeavoured to appear unconscious, a dull red flush crept up over his cheeks, and after shifting for a moment from one foot to the other, he left the room.
“Lord Denton” and “Karlbeck” exchanged glances out of the corners of their eyes; and Rebener, although he made out to grin at the speech, shifted a little uneasily in his chair.
But Edestone, who, under his quiet exterior, possessed a rather mischievous spirit, was not yet through with them.