"And you'll want a sling."
"Not for this David, mother. A sling would be a fat lot of use against the Goliaths I'm dealing with. Mother, I'm within a hundred and fifty miles of being one of the richest men in the world and, as far as I can see, they'll be the toughest miles I've ever covered in my life."
And suddenly from the window came Flora's cry of "Look out!"
Anthony did not waste time looking out but instead flung himself behind the upright piano which stood out from the wall. Nor was he a moment too soon for the massive form of Mr. Bolt was framed in the French windows. Mrs. Barraclough took three steps toward him as also did Flora, thus preventing a definite intrusion into the room.
"I beg your pardon—I do indeed beg your pardon," said Bolt in tones as rich as the fat of pork, "but I fancy—I rather imagine—I—yes, to be sure, left a pair of gloves on your sofa."
"If you had rung the bell, sir, your property would have been restored to you in the usual manner. I cannot——"
She stopped as her uninvited guest was sniffing the air suspiciously.
"Mrs. Barraclough," he observed, shaking his head sadly, "I fear I have caught you smoking."
Behind the piano Anthony was feverishly extinguishing his pipe with the ball of his thumb.
"I smoke all day," replied Mrs. Barraclough.