He found Stanley alone in a big and lavishly furnished room. He sat at a table, whereon stood two glasses, a syphon of soda-water, and a decanter. He stood up upon Hemming's entrance. "Ah," he said, "this is good of you. We had almost given up hopes of seeing you to-night."
"I was out," replied Hemming, "and just got your note. Where is your seafaring friend?"
"Allow me to introduce you," said Stanley. "Mr. Kelley, my friend, Mr. Hemming."
Hemming looked about him, open-mouthed, and, though he straightened his monocle, he could see neither hair nor track of Mr. Kelley.
"What is your game?" he inquired, icily.
"It is as I feared," said Stanley, "and I assure you the loss is yours. I alone may enjoy Kelley's delightful society, it appears. His very smile, as he sits there, has a world of humour in it. He tells such droll stories, too, of his adventures by land and sea."
Hemming caught him roughly by the arm. "What damned nonsense is this?" he asked.
Stanley pulled himself away, and the Englishman, fearless though he was, felt daunted by the strange light in his host's eyes.
"If you don't like my friend, why, get out!" cried Stanley. "If you're a snob, and won't drink with a common sailor, and a dead one at that, why, just say so. But I tell you, Hemming, I like him. I didn't when I killed him, but I love him now. You should hear him sing."
For a moment Hemming stood undecided. Then he removed his overcoat, and drew a chair for himself up to the table.