"No, sir. He has just come down, after dressing, and is in the drawing- room.
"I must see him at once," gasped Shorely. "It is a matter of life and death. Take me to the drawing-room."
The man, in some bewilderment, led him to the door of the drawing-room, and Shorely heard the sound of laughter from within. Thus ever are comedy and tragedy mingled. The man threw the door open, and Shorely entered. The sight he beheld at first dazzled him, for the room was brilliantly lighted. He saw a number of people, ladies and gentlemen, all in evening dress, and all looking towards the door, with astonishment in their eyes. Several of them, he noticed, had copies of the Sponge in their hands. Bromley Gibberts stood before the fire, and was very evidently interrupted in the middle of a narration.
"I assure you," he was saying, "that is the only way by which a story of the highest class can be sold to a London editor."
He stopped as he said this, and turned to look at the intruder. It was a moment or two before he recognised the dapper editor in the bedraggled individual who stood, abashed, at the door.
"By the gods!" he exclaimed, waving his hands. "Speak of the editor, and he appears. In the name of all that's wonderful, Shorely, how did you come here? Have your deeds at last found you out? Have they ducked you in a horse-pond? I have just been telling my friends here how I sold you that story, which is making the fortune of the Sponge. Come forward, and show yourself, Shorely, my boy."
"I would like a word with you," stammered Shorely.
"Then, have it here," said the novelist. "They all understand the circumstances. Come and tell them your side of the story."
"I warn you," said Shorely, pulling himself together, and addressing the company, "that this man contemplates a dreadful crime, and I have come here to prevent it."
Gibberts threw back his head, and laughed loudly.