‘I knocked twice,’ said Peebles, ‘and got nae answer. Mr. Conseltine told me ye needed me.’
Kilpatrick dropped the letter and the miniature back into the desk and closed and locked it before speaking again.
‘Is Feagus still below?’
‘Ay,’ said Peebles. ‘He’s drinking with Mr. Conseltine and Mr. Richard. He’s just as drunk as a lord—begging your lordship’s pardon. It’s an old proverb, and like the most o’ proverbs, it has its exceptions.’
‘Drunk, eh?’ said his lordship musingly.
‘Verra drunk!’ said Peebles. ‘It’s seldom he gets such liquor as comes out o’ your cellar, my lord.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Kilpatrick absently; ‘I suppose so. Well, you can help me to undress, Peebles, and then you can tell Mr. Feagus—you can tell him—tell him I’ll write him regarding the business I have in hand.’
Peebles, his face hidden in the darkness which surrounded the little circle of light cast by the reading-lamp, smiled sourly.
‘Verra weel, my lord,’ he said; and Kilpatrick, rising, accepted his arm as a support to his bedroom.
Half an hour later Peebles descended to the dining-room, where he found Mr. Feagus with his head on the table and one arm curled lovingly round an empty bottle.