Just before taking leave of Mr Dutton, who was in an exceedingly excited state, I said: 'By the by, Dutton, you have promised to dine with me on some early day. Let it be next Tuesday. I shall have one or two bachelor friends, and we can give you a shake-down for the night.'
'Next Tuesday?' said he quickly. 'At what hour do you dine?'
'At six. Not a half-moment later.'
'Good! I will be with you.' We then shook hands, and parted.
The dinner would have been without interest to me, had not a note previously arrived from Mrs Rivers, stating that she and Annie were again to sleep that night at Elsworthy's. This promised results.
James Dutton, who rode into town, was punctual, and, as always of late, flurried, excited, nervous—not, in fact, it appeared to me precisely in his right mind. The dinner passed off as dinners usually do, and the after-proceedings went on very comfortably till about half-past nine o'clock, when Dutton's perturbation, increased perhaps by the considerable quantity of wine he had swallowed, not drunk, became, it was apparent to everybody, almost uncontrollable. He rose—purposeless it seemed—sat down again—drew out his watch almost every minute, and answered remarks addressed to him in the wildest manner. The decisive moment was, I saw, arrived, and at a gesture of mine, Elsworthy, who was in my confidence, addressed Dutton. 'By the way, Dutton, about Mrs Rivers and Annie. I forgot to tell you of it before.'
The restless man was on his feet in an instant, and glaring with fiery eagerness at the speaker.
'What! what!' he cried with explosive quickness—'what about Annie? Death and fury!—speak! will you?'
'Don't alarm yourself, my good fellow. It's nothing of consequence. You brought Annie and her governess, about an hour before I started, to sleep at our house'——
'Yes—yes,' gasped Dutton, white as death, and every fibre of his body shaking with terrible dread. 'Yes—well, well, go on. Thunder and lightning! out with it, will you?'