I replied in the affirmative, whereupon he invited me to step upstairs, while I followed him up the wide, well-carpeted staircase and along a corridor on the first floor into a small sitting-room at the rear of the house.
“Mr. Marlowe will be here in a few moments, sir,” he said; “he left a message asking you to wait. He and Mr. Forbes have just gone across the road to a friend’s house. I’ll send over and tell him you are here, if you’ll kindly take a seat.”
The room was small, fairly well furnished, but old-fashioned, and lit by an oil-lamp upon the table. The air was heavy with tobacco-smoke, and near the window was a card-table whereat four players had been seated. The cigar-ash bore testimony to recent occupation of the four chairs, while two packs of cards had been flung down just as the men had risen.
The window was hidden by long curtains of heavy moss-green plush, while in one corner of the room, upon a black marble pedestal, stood a beautiful sculptured statuette of a girl, her hands uplifted together above her head in the act of diving. I examined the exquisite work of art, and saw upon its brass plate the name of an eminent French sculptor.
The carpet, of a peculiar shade of red which contrasted well with the dead-white enamelled walls, was soft to the tread, so that my footsteps fell noiselessly as I moved.
Beside the fireplace was a big inviting saddle-bag chair, into which I presently sank, awaiting Jack.
Who were his friends, I wondered?
The house seemed silent as the grave. I listened for Jack’s footsteps, but could hear nothing.
I was hoping that the loss of nearly a thousand pounds would cure my friend of his gambling propensities. Myself, I had never experienced a desire to gamble. A sovereign or so on a race was the extent of my adventures.