"That you were walking in the garden with a headache," I reminded him.
"Surely you had something better to walk with near at hand?"
He shrugged his shoulders, drained his glass, and wiped his fingers carefully on a cambric handkerchief.
"Either that or my conscience," he replied, "and oddly enough, I preferred the headache. He might have been alive today if I had had my chocolate. Poor man!" he sighed.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked, "or simply to impress me?"
He raised a hand in shocked denial.
"Pray do not believe I am so vulgar," he replied. "Yes, I wished to see you, Henry, for two reasons. First, I was absentminded last evening. I find I do not know the name of the gentleman with whom you had the falling out. If you tell me—who knows—the world is small."
He waited expectantly, and I smiled at him. I had hoped he would ask me.
"You really care to know his name?"
"It might be useful," he confessed. "As I said—who knows? Perhaps we may have something in common—some little mutual interest."
"I am sure you have," I told him. "The man I fought with was Mr.
Lawton—at my uncle's country house."