"It isn't Beaupré; it's Kendrick!"
Colonel Kendrick was the other member who had not yet put in an appearance. His absence had gone almost unnoticed. He had to do nothing for the Honour of the Club--as yet.
Colonel Kendrick came into the room. He was a thickset, soldierly-looking man, with a slight grey moustache and a pair of bold, unflinching eyes. He bowed as he came in, speaking in that short, crisp, staccato tone of voice which is apt to mark the man who has been accustomed to command.
"Gentlemen, I have to apologise to you for my delay." He turned to Mr. Townsend. "I have to inform you, Mr. Townsend, that Mr. Pendarvon has set the police upon your track."
CHAPTER XL.
[MR. TOWNSEND REACHES HOME.]
The members, for the most part, stared at the Colonel. Then they stared at one another. They did not seem to understand. Mr. Townsend looked at the Colonel, then at Mr. Pendarvon. Mr. Pendarvon, with twitching lips and dilated eyes, was leaning, as if for support, against the dial-plate.
"Pendarvon, I am waiting for you to contradict what Kendrick has said."
Mr. Pendarvon was making an effort to control his faculty of speech.
"It's false."