"And I would have grown up as Constance's brother. Guess things have panned out all right as it is."
It was on the tip of his uncle's tongue to ask for some explanation of the very gratified tone in which Master Charles made this remark, but the head waiter entered, solemnly, with the air of respectful and discreet decorum which only an English family butler or a head waiter can assume without burlesque.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen," he said, "but I thought you would like to know about the lady in No. 11, Mrs. Vansittart."
"Yes, what of her?" demanded Traill, whilst Pyne found himself imagining that which caused his heart to beat more rapidly than even the fight for life in the saloon of the Chinook.
"She went out, sir, about an hour ago, and—"
"Has she not returned?"
"No, sir. A policeman has just called to say that she was taken ill, and is now bein' cared for at Mr. Brand's house."
Uncle and nephew glared at each other as men do when they call the gods to witness that no madder words could be spoken. Before the waiter, they perforce restrained themselves.
But Pyne shouted:
"Where is the policeman?"