He was pointing to the splintered neck of the bottle which the stranger had left on the table.
"Seems, sir, as if a bottle had been broken."
"A champagne bottle--perhaps----" The personage looked at the waiter; the waiter looked at him. Possibly it was because of what each saw in the other's eyes that the speaker left his sentence unfinished. He broke into petulant anger. "Nice thing this is to happen in my house right at the beginning of the race week, about the only time in the year when one does have a chance of making a little money--goodness only knows what mischief it may do me when it gets known. Who's that at the door? Shut it at once! You can't come in here!"
It seemed that someone could come in, because someone did--a woman. She was what is sometimes described as a fine woman, still in the prime of life; big and well covered, she would probably have turned the scale at sixteen stone. She wore a black silk dress, which had a generous train; her ample bust glittered with chains and gewgaws. Unmistakably this was the hostess, the personage's wife. She stood in the doorway.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"First of all, Mrs Elsey, be so good as to shut that door. Then, when you've done that, if you'll take the trouble to walk as far as this, you will see what is the matter for yourself."
Shutting the door, she walked to the table--and saw.
"Why, whatever! Good gracious! Who's done it?"
"Seems as if someone had--by the looks of him."
"Bob!--what a sight he is! Goodness knows he never was much in the way of looks, but who'd have thought he ever could have looked like that? Don't you know who did it?"