Another instant their glances clashed, then Morphew's fell, he turned sullenly back to the table, fumbling, to cover nervousness out of character, for his cigar-case. "Well: what do you want?"
Lanyard pushed the hall door to before replying.
"First, to give myself the felicity of telling you the great news."
Eyes beneath leaden lids shifted back to Lanyard's face, a gross hand grossly crusted with diamonds brought to light a case of gold studded with diamonds, but delayed to open it.
"Come, Monsieur Morphew! confess you are wondering what has become of that zealous disciple of yours, Monsieur Mallison."
"What about Mallison?"
But Morphew had found it necessary to moisten his lips before he could speak.
"He is, at the present moment, one has good reason to believe, wildly telephoning about Town to get in touch with you and pray for a bondsman to bail him out, when he is arraigned tomorrow morning for stealing Mrs. McFee's emeralds."
The pupils of the little, flesh-embedded eyes contracted, Morphew licked his lips again. "How's that?"
"Your protégé, monsieur, so neatly styled the dancing yegg, was caught hiding in the boudoir upstairs, some fifteen or twenty minutes ago, and arrested."