Tony seated himself on the running-board of the Peugot, which was also outside in the yard. "You have a happy and contented temperament, Jennings," he observed. "I often envy you."
Not receiving any reply to this compliment, he leaned back against the door of the car, and lighting another cigarette watched Jennings gathering up the fragments of the Hispano with that cold stoicism of one unjustly afflicted by the Fates. He had been enjoying this pleasant spectacle for several minutes, when a sudden sound of footsteps attracted his attention. A moment later Spalding emerged into sight round the corner of the bushes and advanced to where he was sitting.
"A gentleman has called, Sir Antony, and wishes to see you immediately. I told him that I would ascertain whether you were at home."
"That was very tactful of you, Spalding," said Tony. "Who is it?"
"Another foreign gentleman, sir. A Mr. Congosta."
Tony got up at once. "Oh, yes," he said, "I will see him certainly. Where is he?"
"Not knowing the gentleman, Sir Antony, I thought it best to leave him in the hall."
Tony nodded his approval. "We'll be off as soon as you are ready, Jennings," he said. "I may stay the night, so you had better bring your things with you."
Then, accompanied by Spalding, he made his way back down the drive, and re-entered the front door outside which an empty taxi was ticking away with remorseless energy.
Señor Congosta, who was seated in one of the big leather chairs scattered about the hall, rose up at their entrance. He bowed to Tony, who at once came forward and greeted him with a hearty handshake, while Spalding withdrew discreetly through the door at the back.