“I wanted a chat, Gray,” he replied. “I’m leaving town tomorrow, or I should not have intruded at such an unearthly hour.”
“No intrusion,” muttered Gray; “try the armchair, no, the big one. It’s more comfortable.” He raised his voice: “Willis, bring some fluid!”
Sir Lucien sat down, and from the pocket of his dinner jacket took out a plain brown packet of cigarettes and selected one.
“Here,” said Gray, “have a cigar!”
“No, thanks,” replied Pyne. “I rarely smoke anything but these.”
“Never seen that kind of packet before,” declared Gray. “What brand are they?”
“No particular brand. They are imported from Buenos Ayres, I believe.”
Willis having brought in a tray of refreshments and departed again, Sir Lucien came at once to the point.
“I really called, Gray,” he said, “to clear up any misunderstanding there may be in regard to Rita Irvin.”
Quentin Gray looked up suddenly when he heard Rita’s name, and: