"Of course!" agreed Lovelace. "And—excuse me—why the devil didn't you let your secretary manage his domestic squabbles by himself?"
"He's very much broken down," said Errington. "A hopeless, frail, disappointed man. I thought I could serve him—"
"I see!" and Beau's eyes were bent on him with a very friendly look. "You're a first-rate fellow, Errington,—but you shouldn't fly off so readily on the rapid wings of impulse. Now I suppose you want to shoot Lennox—that can't be done—not in England at any rate."
"It can't be done at all, anywhere," said Lorimer gravely. "He's dead."
Beau Lovelace started back in amazement. "Dead! You don't say so! Why, he was dining last night at the Criterion—I saw him there."
Briefly they related the sudden accident that had occurred, and described its fatal result.
"He died horribly!" said Philip in a low voice. "I haven't got over it yet. That evil, tortured face of his haunts me."
Lovelace was only slightly shocked. He had known Lennox's life too well, and had despised it too thoroughly, to feel much regret now it was thus abruptly ended.
"Rather an unpleasant exit for such a fellow," he remarked. "Not aesthetic at all. And so you were going to castigate him?"
"Look!" and Philip showed him the horsewhip; "I've been carrying this thing about all day,—I wish I could drop it in the streets; but if I did, some one would be sure to pick it up and return it to me."