“For me? Impossible! I am supposed to be dead at home,” exclaimed Sam, tearing it open. “Oh, it’s from Frank Hedley, and—well, he has been successful after all! Listen, Robin. Excuse me, Mrs Redpath. May I read it aloud?”
“By all means,” answered the pretty little woman, who would probably have answered the same if he had asked leave to go to bed in his boots.
“‘Your affair settled’”—continued Sam, reading.
“‘Great Eastern starts almost immediately. Come without delay.’”
“How provoking!” exclaimed the pretty little woman. “I had counted on having you a fortnight at least.”
“And I had counted on showing you some capital sport in our jungles, where we have all sorts of large game. But of course you cannot do otherwise than obey the summons at once.”
“Of course not,” said Sam and Robin together.
Flinn left the room and entered the servants’ quarters with something like a groan.
“Sure it’s bad luck has followed me iver since I left owld Ireland.”
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Slagg, looking up from the slice of peacock breast with which he was regaling himself.