"It would scarcely have been polite."
We consulted Jaffery. "Never heard of him," he growled. "And I don't like to hear of him now. That young woman's running loose a vast deal too much."
"What an old dog in the manger you are!" cried Barbara; and thus started an old argument.
On Sunday morning we saw Mr. Fendihook for ourselves. I met the car, a two-seater, which he drove himself, at the front door, and perceived between a motoring cap worn peak behind and a tightly buttoned Burberry coat a pink, fleshy, clean shaven face, from the middle of which projected an enormous cigar. I helped Liosha out.
"This is Mr. Fendihook."
"Commonly called Ras Fendihook, at your service," said he.
I smiled and shook hands and gave the car into the charge of my chauffeur, who appeared from the stable-yard. In the hall, aided by Franklin, Mr. Ras Fendihook divested himself of his outer wrappings and revealed a thickset man of medium height, rather flashily attired. I know it is narrow-minded, but I have a prejudice against a black and white check suit, and a red necktie threaded through a gold ring.
"Against the rules?" he asked, holding up his cigar, a very good one, on which he had retained the band.
"By no means," said I, "we smoke all over the house."
"Tiptop!" He looked around the hall. "You seem to have a bit of all right here."