“And now,” said Young R., having viewed them each in turn, “if these—­er—­very thirsty musicians have had enough of—­er—­my wine to—­er—­drink, perhaps you’ll be so obliging as to see them—­off the premises?”

“I—­I beg parding, sir?”

“Please escort your friends off the premises.”

“Certingly, sir—­at once, sir—­”

“Unless you think you ought to give them each a handful of my cigars—­”

But Mr. Brimberly had already bundled his dazed guests to the door, out of the door, and out of the house, with very little ceremony.

It was a very deferential and officiously eager Brimberly who presently knocked and, bowing very frequently, begged to know how he might be of further service.

“Might I get you a little supper, sir?  We ’ave ’am, sir, we ’ave beef, cold, salmon and cucumber likewise cold, a ditto chicken—­”

“That sounds rather a quaint bird,” said Ravenslee.

“Yes, sir, very good, sir, chicken an’ a nice slice of ’am, sir, say, and—­”

“Thank you, Brimberly, I dined late.”

“Why then, sir, a sandwich or so, pray permit me, sir, cut nice an’ thin, sir—­”

“Thank you—­no.”

“Dear, dear!  Why then, sir, whisky?  Brandy?  A lick-your?”

“Nothing.”

“A cigar, sir?”

“Hum!  Have we any of the Garcias left?”

“Y-yes, sir.  Ho, certingly, sir.  Shall I—­”

“Don’t bother, I prefer my pipe; only let me know when we get short,
Brimberly, and we’ll order more—­or perhaps you have a favourite brand?”

“Brand, sir,” murmured Brimberly, “a—­er—­certingly, sir.”

“Good night, Brimberly.”

“Good night, sir, but first can’t I do—­hanything?”

“Oh, yes, you do me, of course.  You do me so consistently and well that I really ought to raise your wages.  I’ll think about it.”

Mr. Brimberly stared, coughed, and fumbled for his whisker, whence his hand wandered to his brow and hovered there.

“I—­I bid you good night, sir!”

“Oh, by the way, bring me the letters.”

“Certingly, sir!” and crossing the room, Mr. Brimberly returned, bearing a salver piled high with letters, which he set at his master’s elbow; this done, he bowed and went from the room, one hand still at his dazed brow.

Left alone, Ravenslee took up the letters one by one.  Some he threw aside, some few he opened and glanced at carelessly; among these last was a telegram, and the words he saw were these: 

“Meet me to-morrow sunset in the wood all shall be explained Hermy.”

For a while he sat staring at this, then, laying it by, drew out a letter case from which he took another telegram bearing precisely the same message.  Having compared them, he thrust them into his pocket, and filling his pipe, sat awhile smoking and lost in thought.  At last, his pipe being out, he rose, stretched, and turned toward the door, but in the act of leaving the room, paused to take out and compare the telegrams again and so stood with puckered brow.