Arthur turned as if he had been struck, saw him and stared, his mouth agape. “The devil!” he ejaculated.
But to Clement’s surprise his face betrayed neither the guilt nor the fear which he had expected to see, but only amazement that the other should be there—and some annoyance. “You?” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? What joke is this? Did your father think that I could not be trusted to see things through? Or that you were likely to do better?”
“I want a word with you,” said Clement. He was in no mood to mince matters.
“But why are you here?” with rising anger. “Why have you come after me? What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you, if you’ll step aside.”
“You can tell me on the coach, then, for I have no time to lose now. I mean to catch the three o’clock coach, and——”
“No!” Clement said firmly. “I must speak to you here.”
But on that the broker interposed, his watch in his hand, “Anyway, I can stop,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?”
“Mr. Ovington, junior,” Arthur said, with something of a sneer. “I don’t know what he has come up for, but——”
“But, at any rate, he’ll see you safe to the coach,” the other rejoined. “And I must be off. I give you joy of it, Mr. Bourdillon. Fine work! Fine work, by Jove! And I shall tell Mr. Ovington so when I see him. You’re a marvel! My compliments to your father, young gentleman,” addressing Clement. “Glad to have met you, but I can’t stay now. Fifty things to do, and no time to do ’em in. The world’s upside down to-day. Good morning! Good morning!” With a wave of the hand, his watch in the other, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the main entrance.