Metcalfe interrupted at this moment. “Playing favorites so early in the evening, Miss Lydecker?” he asked.
“I’ve just been given a warning,” she said.
“A Black-hand letter?” asked Tanner, who had strolled up.
“Hardly as bad as that. But as usual it fell upon deaf ears.”
Several other men came up at this moment, and the conversation was abruptly shifted. Klein watched as Miss Lydecker walked away, surrounded by a group of admirers.
Perhaps five minutes elapsed. None of the guests had left the room—of this Klein was positive, since he was sitting nearest the door—and the incessant chatter rose and fell like the murmur of surf on a distant shore.
The men were allowed to enjoy cigars, and the room was soon filled with drifting smoke. Tanner, evidently at some one’s request, stepped to the nearest window and opened it.
“There!” he exclaimed. “That’s better.” He drew in a deep breath. “Isn’t the sea air refreshing?”
He sat down on the arm of Klein’s chair. “Do you know it is three o’clock?”
“I’d forgotten about the time,” Klein answered. “I suppose we ought to be home.”