“But why didn’t you lend him a hand to settle his private affairs?” said Portson.
“Because I wasn’t acting in my private capacity. I’d been on the bridge for three nights and—” Maddingham pulled out his watch—“this time to-morrow I shall be there again—confound it! Has my car come, Henri?”
“Yes, Sare Francis. I am sorry.” They all complimented Henri on the dinner, and when the compliments were paid he expressed himself still their debtor. So did the nephew.
“Are you coming with me, Portson?” said Maddingham as he rose heavily.
“No. I’m for Southampton, worse luck! My car ought to be here, too.”
“I’m for Euston and the frigid calculating North,” said Winchmore with a shudder. “One common taxi, please, Henri.”
Tegg smiled. “I’m supposed to sleep in just now, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to come with you as far as Gravesend, Maddingham.”
“Delighted. There’s a glass all round left still,” said Maddingham. “Here’s luck! The usual, I suppose? ‘Damnation to all neutrals!’”
THE VINEYARD
At the eleventh hour he came,