He rose from his chair and dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray.
“So long,” he said, with a friendly nod. “Wish I could stop, but it’s no go. That’s the last let-up I shall have to-night.”
He went out, leaving Mr. McEachern seated in his chair, a prey to many and varied emotions.
★ 29 ★
The Last Round
He had only been gone a few minutes when Mr. McEachern’s meditations were again interrupted. This time the visitor was a stranger to him—a dark-faced, clean-shaven man. He did not wear evening clothes, so could not be one of the guests; and Mr. McEachern could not place him immediately. Then he remembered. He had seen him in Sir Thomas Blunt’s dressing room. This was Sir Thomas’s valet.
“Might I have a word with you, sir?”
“What is it?” asked McEachern, staring heavily. His mind had not recovered from the effect of Lord Dreever’s philosophical remarks. There was something of a cloud on his brain. To judge from his lordship’s words, things had been happening behind his back; and the idea of Molly deceiving him was too strange to be assimilated in an instant. He looked at the valet dully.
“What is it?” he asked again.
“I must apologise for intruding, but I thought it best to approach you before making my report to Sir Thomas.”
“Your report?”