In that room three men were assembled round a table; the eldest of whom, endowed with little grey eyes, a stubbly beard, and that mysterious something only found in those who have been mayors, rose at once and came towards him.
“Mr. Courtier, I believe,” he said bluffly. “Glad to see you, sir. Most distressed to hear of this outrage. Though in a way, it's done us good. Yes, really. Grossly against fair play. Shouldn't be surprised if it turned a couple of hundred votes. You carry the effects of it about with you, I see.”
A thin, refined man, with wiry hair, also came up, holding a newspaper in his hand.
“It has had one rather embarrassing effect,” he said. “Read this
“'OUTRAGE ON A DISTINGUISHED VISITOR.
“'LORD MILTOUN'S EVENING ADVENTURE.'”
Courtier read a paragraph.
The man with the little eyes broke the ominous silence which ensued.
“One of our side must have seen the whole thing, jumped on his bicycle and brought in the account before they went to press. They make no imputation on the lady—simply state the facts. Quite enough,” he added with impersonal grimness; “I think he's done for himself, sir.”
The man with the refined face added nervously:
“We couldn't help it, Mr. Courtier; I really don't know what we can do. I don't like it a bit.”