Then he held up a finger to a distant waiter in the dining-room, and when he came, murmured, "Whisky—soda—two," and fanned himself vigorously till they came.
"Better?" asked Graeme, as they nodded and drank.
"Heap better! What a demnable place to get into!"
"There are one or two other entrances—"
"Better?"
"No, worse."
"Demn!"
"Now," he said presently, when his heart had got back to normal and he had lit a cigarette. "Let's talk business. Am I in time?"
"For the wedding? Just in time. It's tomorrow."
"Aw—er—you know what I've come for, I suppose?"