"Don't know!" burst out Portlaw; "hell's bells!"
Malcourt shook his head.
Portlaw profanely requested information as to how the place was to be kept going. Malcourt was patient with him to the verge of indifference.
"There's nothing to blow up about. Hastings is competent to manage things—"
"That conceited pup!"
"Hastings understands," repeated Malcourt, in a listless voice. "I've always counted on Alexander Hastings for any emergency. He knows things, and he's capable.... Only don't be brusque. He doesn't understand you as I do ... and he's fully your equal—fully—in every way—and then some—" The weariness in his tone was close to a sneer; he dropped his cigarette into the fire and began to roll another.
"Louis," said Portlaw, frightened.
"Well?"
"What the devil is the meaning of all this? You are coming back, aren't you?"
Malcourt continued to roll his cigarette, but after a while he spoiled it and began to construct another.