“Mr Bromley,” she whispered, “do me a favour. The Congte is most anxious to go to Lady Ilminster’s. Can you, do you think—can you manage this?”
“Impossible, my dear Lady Coxe. I have already exceeded my powers.”
A wink, supposed to be imperceptible, announced to the Count the result of the negotiation. A dead silence ensued. When Bromley left the box, no effort was made to detain him.
CHAPTER XII.
It was early the following afternoon when Bromley took a light dinner at his club. The waiters, as they brought him portions of soup and fish, speculated on the causes which induced Mr Bromley to dine at four o’clock. In the hall he had left a carpet-bag containing six bottles of sherry and two of whisky, one of Curaçoa, and one of pale brandy.
He was not long at his dinner. Having finished, he sent for a cab, and, placing in it his carpet-bag, desired the driver to take him to the Strand to a celebrated fish-shop. Here he bought two lobsters, two bundles of dried sprats, a pork-pie, a Bologna sausage, two loaves of brown bread, and a pound of butter. The civil shopman, at Bromley’s request, sent out for some fine Spanish onions, which were added to the packet. With these provisions Bromley ordered himself to Kennington.
The driver at length drew up as directed at a nursery garden. Here Bromley alighted, paid his fare, and, shouldering his baggage, walked up the garden path.
“Is Mrs Magens at home?” he asked a maid-servant.
“Yes, sir, she’s up-stairs.”
“Will you tell her I’m here? How are you, my dear?”