PART III
CHAPTER I
Colonel Munro drew the ends of his white tie through the loop in the middle with infinite care. In a very wide circle of acquaintances he was universally known as "Charlie" Munro; and you had only to look at him to see how appropriate was this gallant diminutive. His head was bald at the top, but cleanly and beautifully bald, like a head of the finest marble; on either side and behind, his hair was both white and curly; his eye was bright, his features remarkably handsome, his mustache a slender ornament of silver, and his figure tall and slender. At sixty-three he was probably handsomer than he had ever been before in his life; and that was saying a great deal. He lived in very pleasant bachelor chambers in St. James' under the charge of a competent valet.
"Let me see that card again," he said, as he gave his tie those little finishing touches that converted it from an elegant accessory into a work of art.
The valet went to his sitting-room and returned with a calling card on a tray. Colonel Munro studied it a trifle lugubriously.
"James Heriot Walkingshaw," he read, with this addendum in pencil, "Shall call for you 7:30. Count on your company at dinner."
The Colonel buttoned his white waistcoat.
"Didn't you tell Mr. Walkingshaw that I would probably be engaged?" he asked.