“Dressing-gown and slippers—what a lazy dog I am compared with you!” said Longcluse gaily as he entered.
“Don't say another word on that subject, I beg. I should have been later myself, had I dared; but my Uncle David had appointed to meet me at ten.”
“Won't you take something?”
“Well, as I have had no breakfast, I don't mind if I do,” said Arden, laughing.
Longcluse rang the bell.
“When did you leave that place last night?” asked Longcluse.
“I fancy about the same time that you went—about five or ten minutes after the match ended. You heard there was a man murdered in a passage there? I tried to get down and see it but the crowd was awful.”
“I was more lucky—I came earlier,” said Longcluse. “It was perfectly sickening, and I have been seedy ever since. You may guess what a shock it was to me. The murdered man was that poor little Frenchman I told you of, who had been talking to me, in high spirits, just before the play began—and there he was, poor fellow! You'll see it all there; it makes me sick.”
He handed him the Times.
“Yes, I see. I daresay the police will make him out,” said Arden, as he glanced hastily over it. “Did you remark some awfully ill-looking fellows there?”