"Fifty thousand pounds," I repeated. "It's a sobering sum, isn't it?"
"Sobering!" gasped Billy. "It's—it's—" Words failed him completely.
"Well, come along," I said, jumping up from my chair. "Let's get back to Park Lane and see what's happening there. We've all sorts of things to do before dinner."
"All sorts of things to do?" echoed Billy reprovingly. "My dear Jack, you forget yourself: you are now one of the idle rich."
"Not quite, Billy," I said; "there's a lot of dust to sweep up yet. We'll start by paying for tea."
I rang the bell and settled my bill, giving the waiter a tip that made his hair curl. It pleased me to be able to pass on something of my own emotions.
We then went down into the hall, where a porter hurried off to inform our faithful driver, who by my instructions was refreshing himself somewhere in the hotel. A minute later, the Rolls-Royce drew up outside the door.
"Lammersfield House, Park Lane," I said.
Billy settled himself back luxuriously, facing me. "And to think," he murmured, "that ten days ago we were dining at Parelli's."
"To-night," I said, "we'll all three dine at Park Lane. What do you say, Mercia?"