"Show him in somewhere, Hedges. Lady Hartledon is in the drawing-room, I suppose: let him go into the dining-room."
"Her ladyship's dinner is being laid there, my lord," dissented the cautious retainer. "She said it was to be served as soon as it was ready, having come home earlier than she expected."
"Deuce take it!" testily responded Val, "one can't swing a cat in these cramped hired houses. Show him into my smoking-den upstairs."
"Let me go there," said Mr. Carr, "and you can see him in this room."
"No; keep to your wine, Carr. Take him up there, Hedges."
The butler retired, and Lord Hartledon turned to his guest. "Carr, can you give a guess at the fellow's business?"
"It's nothing to trouble you. If you have overlooked any old debt, you are able to give a cheque for it. But I should rather suspect your persevering friend to be some clergyman or missionary, bent on drawing a good subscription from you."
Val did not raise his eyes. He was playing again with his empty wine-glass, his face grave and perplexed.
"Do they serve writs in these cases?" he suddenly asked.
Mr. Carr laughed. "Is the time so long gone by that you have forgotten yours? You have had some in your day."