A gentleman had strolled into the room through the opened window--Mr. William Summers. Mr. William Summers as large as life, and larger. There were no signs of guilt upon his countenance; certainly there were none in his bearing. He held a soft crush hat in one hand, the other he held out to Mr. Ely.
"Well, I'm--hanged!"
"I say, Ely, what's the row?"
Speechless with indignation, Mr. Ely turned and strode towards the door. When he reached it he paused, and turning again, he gazed at the intruder. The intruder did not seem to be at all abashed.
"That's the way they used to do it at the Coburg. Exit vanquished vice."
"Sir!"
"That's a little Coburg, too. They used to roll their r's."
Mr. Summers tugged at his beard. Retracing his steps, Mr. Ely strode on until he was in a measurable distance of Mr. Summers's nose.
"Understand this once for all: you are a perfect stranger, sir, to me."
"That's all right; I thought I was. Excuse one stranger speaking to another, but could you tell me where Miss Truscott is?"