"Sorry!" He laughed and went back to his normal tone. "Dear old George! If I'd ever doubted, d'you think I could have stood going round with a guitar in Chinatown—handing basins on a liner.... Doubt!"
An hour later we turned in through the drive gates of Crowley Court.
V
As I slowed down opposite the door, it occurred to me to ask whether O'Rane had made his peace with Tom Dainton.
"No. And never shall," he grunted. "Fortunately he's not here, though. If he were——"
The sentence was cut short as the doors were flung open, and Crabtree, gorgeous in white waistcoat and pink carnation, advanced into the white glare of the headlights.
"Stout fellows!" he cried heartily. "Haven't seen you for ages, Raney——"
"How do you do, Crabtree?" O'Rane responded, in a tone that would have chilled a blast furnace.
"Come along in! Never mind about the car, George; one of the men'll take it round. How are the lads of Oxenford, what? How's the House? How's everything?"
The questions were so clearly rhetorical that I attempted no answer. Sir Roger came in sight, crossing the hall, and I hurried in to shake hands with him, reflecting that full two-thirds of my antagonism to Crabtree arose from his inveterate use of my Christian name.