The other halted. His heavy, handsome face whitened under its unhealthy skin.
"Ah, how do, Hemming," he said.
Hemming took the extended hand. They stood about the same height. Hemming retained his grip of the other's hand.
"I am somewhat pressed for time," he said, "so you'll forgive me if I begin immediately."
He jerked Mr. Penthouse toward him with a downward wrench of his right arm, and, with his stick in his left hand, he administered a short and severe caning.
"I'm a-waitin' for you, guvnor," called the cabby.
Leaving Mr. Penthouse seated upon the pavement, dazed and blasphemous, Hemming returned to the cab and drove away.
CHAPTER III.
HEMMING VISITS THE MANAGER OF THE SYNDICATE
Hemming's club was a favourite resort of military and naval men stationed near town, or home on leave. He met half a dozen whom he knew more or less intimately. All had something to say about his change of career, but presently he escaped them, and sought a quiet corner of the reading-room, where he could smoke and stare at the latest papers. Reading was out of the question. He might as well have tried to sing. Several times he was ready to leave the club and return to Miss Travers, but the memory of the movement she had made when he had touched her shoulder kept him crushed in his chair. He dined at the club, and drank more than was his custom. The sound wine brought colour back to his cheeks.