"So," I admitted, with a degree of candour which I am not sure that he altogether relished, "I should imagine."
XI
[A MUTUAL AFFINITY]
I
"What the--blazes!"
George Coventry sat with an open envelope in his hand. It was an ordinary white envelope--"business" size--of not too fine a quality. It was addressed: "George Coventry, Esq., Hôtel Metropole, Brighton." The address was type-written.
"Dun!"
That was the one word which had crossed his mind when he first glanced at the exterior of this missive. When he took it up his suspicions were strengthened. It was fat and bulky.
"Contains either a writ or a bill in several volumes."
He laid it down again. He looked at it ruefully as he puffed at his pipe. Then, gathering together his courage with a sigh, he opened it. It was at this point he emitted the above exclamation,--"What the--blazes!"