But Smith’s idea of an hour was influenced by a not unnatural desire to go to bed; and they had not enjoyed their peace for more than five minutes when it was tremendously shattered by footfalls on the stairs.
“Oh, Lord!” muttered Hugo Carr. But rather comically, for, after all, it had to be got over some time.
Joan went queerly taut, and began to say something, very swiftly, but the door opened just then and he did not catch what it was.
Entered Smith—only Smith! And Hugo Carr breathed relief that his point of honour had not yet grown a point. Joan made no sign.
Smith came forward quickly. The candles flickered uneasily across his face. He addressed Hugo Carr.
“Sir,” he said quickly, “I went in to announce you to Mr. Loyalty——” He broke off, and his eyes hovered over Joan.
“Yes, Smith?” she encouraged him softly.
Smith’s eyes still hovered about her, he seemed very perturbed. He addressed the air between them.
“Mr. Loyalty’s dead,” said Smith.
Smith was not a heartless man. He was moved, and plunged again into the startled silence: “I went in and found him with his head laid across the writing-table and a little bottle empty by his hand. I shook ’im....”