"Yes," Rex answered, "they contained my refusal of the candidature."
"The devil!" said Ainsworth.
CHAPTER XX.
The gun-room adjoined the library in Britton Hall. Ainsworth and Trascott sat in the former chamber, awaiting the advent of their host.
The red-eyed butler, who had been sleeping in a chair, appeared with a tray containing cognac and cigars to drive away the chill of the dismally wet night, but the lawyer was in such a state of anger and suspense that he wished neither brandy nor the weed.
"Put them down," he snapped. "Where's your master now?"
"Upstairs, sir, if you please," the butler stammered, confused by Ainsworth's penetrating eyes. "I presume, sir, he's changing his things–getting on dry, so to speak! He ordered me to bring you these."
Ainsworth stabbed a finger in the direction of a shell table strewn with paper cases and long brass cartridges.
"Leave them there," the irritated lawyer directed, "and get out!" The abashed butler obeyed.
"D–n him!" Ainsworth fumed, anathematizing the master when the servant was out of hearing. "The infernal nerve of him to refuse that candidature! And to refuse it in that way! Good Lord!" He gave vent to his feelings by stamping about the gun-room, while Trascott pondered in silence, filled with a vague mistrust that some drastic coercion was responsible for Britton's action.