"How do you do?" I said. "I'm very much obliged to you for coming to my rescue."
"If half of what Lammersfield told me is right," he answered, "I am glad to have had the chance."
It was only when he spoke that you got an idea of the real man. There was something in his voice that suggested the crack of a whip.
"Well," I said, "if Lammersfield has told you the story already, perhaps you'd rather ask me questions."
He sat down at the table and shook his head.
"No, Mr. Burton; if you don't mind, I'd rather have your account of the matter. Lammersfield's ideas of accuracy are political rather than legal."
Remembering the latter's opinion of Mr. Gordon, I was unable to repress a smile.
"Right you are," I said; and without more ado I plunged straight into my narrative, telling it just as I had told it to Lord Lammersfield, with the exception of leaving out all references to that eminent statesman's private affairs.
My visitor listened, lounging forward on the table, one hand supporting his head, and with the other making occasional notes on a half-sheet of paper. Once or twice he interrupted with sharp, curt questions which showed with what acute attention he was following my story.
When I had finished, he lay back in his chair, crossed his legs, and stared reflectively at the ceiling. I was just beginning to wonder whether he thought the whole thing a colossal lie, when he suddenly sat up and pulled his notes toward him.