"I'll soon let him know who we are," bellowed Mr. Leo, "and what we are—and what he is."
"Impossible, while he's in this state," Peckover maintained. "If you kill him——"
"Good job too!" Mr. Leo interpolated.
"He won't be much good for matrimonial purposes."
"True," Miss Leo admitted.
Peckover had noticed with some discomfort that of late her eyes had rested on him with increasing interest. He was always typically alive to the slightest sign of female attraction to himself, but this particular attention did not produce in him the usual sportive complacency. The situation was becoming tense. The very complexity of his position took from Peckover his usual volubility. Then he bethought himself of certain alcoholic sustenance which he and Gage kept in a closed cabinet in order to be able to indulge in it at uncanonical hours without the fuss of ringing and ordering drinks. Noblesse oblige, the new-fangled peer had observed in reference to his obligation to hide the evidence of irregular refreshment.
"Have a drink?" he suggested, as he whipped out a decanter of derelict sherry which a foraging tour of the cellars had discovered.
Mr. Carnaby Leo's interest in his surroundings seemed to deepen at the suggestion. "I will," he promptly responded, as he swooped down upon the wine. "Sherry!" He pronounced the word with a contortion of his fat face which might be construed into an indication of preference for some other beverage not immediately forthcoming; but he drank it, gulping down a glass at a swallow, nevertheless.
Suddenly Miss Leo turned to Peckover. "You are not married?" she demanded with startling significance.
"Not yet," he answered, blanching.