“For the pleasure of doing that,” said Eliphalet, and hit him with surprising vigour on the end of the nose.
“Damn!” roared the youngster, and drew back his arm with intention of countering. But somehow it entangled in his cloak and before he had freed it, Eliphalet had pranced in and rained upon him a veritable tornado of blows. More by luck than judgment one of them took Kenneth on the point of the jaw, and put him to sleep behind a curtain of falling stars.
“I say! whatever is all this about?” exclaimed Mr. Dawson.
“A—piece of—just retribution and N-nemesis. Tell him, my dear—I—I’m——”
Then very gracefully, as he was graceful in all things, Eliphalet Cardomay tottered and collapsed across the body of his prostrate foe.
It is not a wise proceeding for a man on the wrong side of sixty to engage in a rough-and-tumble. The results are apt to produce cardiac disturbances. The doctor, who was called in, said afterwards there was a time when he doubted whether Mr. Cardomay’s heart was equal to the task of adjusting itself. Certainly the old actor was in a sorry way when he was placed in Mr. Deansgate’s private brougham and driven off to Camden Town under the guardianship of a very anxious Mornice. She had explained how the circumstances came about, and Mr. Deansgate sent a polite request to Kenneth Luke to call at his office before leaving.
The result of this interview was significantly betrayed by the presence of Kenneth Luke’s “card” in the following Thursday’s issue of the Daily Telegraph, with the words “At Liberty” following his name.
Mornice and the landlady put Eliphalet to bed and tucked him in as though he were a child. He complained of being thirsty and very tired, and hardly seemed aware of his surroundings.
“I shan’t leave him to-night,” whispered Mornice. “Perhaps you’d give me a comfy chair, Ma dear, then I can watch restfully.”
And as the good Mrs. Albion liked being addressed as “Ma dear,” she produced her best armchair (a forbidding affair of varnished walnut, American cloth and brass-headed nails), and set it beside the bed. She also put a match to the fire and, on the principle of “If you’re not going to sleep, you must eat,” cooked up “a bit o’ supper.” She did not leave the room until satisfied that Mornice had done justice to the grilled herring and jug of hot coffee. Then she gave her a “nice” kiss and a whispered good night.