Philip scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"I don't know that we've got any great sensations at the present time," he said.
"Something will turn up," I answered in the words of one greater than myself, as I waved my hand in farewell and started back in the direction of the Club.
I knew my brother would not leave Court till at least four o'clock, so I had to dispose of an hour before it was time to call round in Pont Street. The Club had emptied since luncheon, and I drew blank in one place after another until fate directed my steps to the Card Room. There were two men playing bézique, one of them poor Tom Wilding whom I had left lame and returned to find half paralysed and three parts blind. The other—who played with a wonderful patience, calling the names of the cards—I recognised as my young friend Lambert Aintree who had parted from me in Morocco five years before. I reminded them both of my identity, and we sat gossiping till an attendant arrived to wheel poor Wilding away for his afternoon drive.
Leaving the card-table, Aintree joined me on the window-seat and subjected my face, clothes and general appearance to a rapid scrutiny. It was the practised, comprehensive glance of an old physician in making diagnosis, and I waited for him to pronounce on my case. Five years ago in Morocco he had exhibited a disconcerting and almost uncanny skill in reading character and observing little forgotten points that every one else missed. The results of his observation were usually shrouded in the densest veils of uncommunicativeness: I sometimes wonder if I have ever met a more silent man. When you could get him to talk, he was usually worth hearing: for the most part, however, talking like every other form of activity seemed too much of an exertion. I understand him now better than I did, but I am not so foolish as to pretend that I understand him completely. I am a man of three dimensions: Aintree, I am convinced, was endowed with the privilege of a fourth.
"Well?" I said invitingly, as he brought his examination to an end and looked out of the window.
His answer was to throw me over a cigarette and light one himself.
"Take an interest in me," I said plaintively. "Say you thought I was dead...."
"Everyone's said that."
"True," I admitted.