He rose in awkward haste, and upset his chair with a loud crash on the parquet floor.
“How stupid of me!” he exclaimed, whilst Hume wondered what had happened to flurry the barrister, and Capella smothered a curse.
A distant bell jangled. By tacit consent, there was no further talk until a servant appeared. The man was a stranger to Hume.
Oddly enough, Brett took but a very small allowance of the spirit. In reality, he hated alcohol in any form during the earlier hours. He was wont to declare that it not only disturbed his digestion but destroyed his taste for tobacco. Hume did not yet know what a concession to exciting circumstances his new-found friend had made the previous day in ordering spirits before luncheon.
When the servant vanished, Capella settled himself in his chair with the air of a man awaiting explanations. Yet he was restless and disturbed. He was afraid of these two. Why? Brett determined to try the effect of generalities.
“You probably guess the object of our visit?” he began.
“I? No. How should I guess?”
“As the husband of a lady so closely connected with Mr. Hume—”
But the Italian seemed to be firmly resolved to end the suspense.
“Caramba!” he broke in. “What is it?”