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There was something in Mr. Grex's tone which seemed to destroy all his confidence, a note of something almost alien in the measured contempt of his speech. "I am sorry to give you any offence," Richard began. "I happened to notice that you were watching me. I was looking at your daughter staring at her. I am afraid you thought me impertinent." "Your perspicuity," Mr.
Something which was almost like the ghost of a smile, devoid of any trace of humour, parted Mr. Grex's lips. "If I count that for anything!" he repeated, half closing his eyes for a moment. "Pray proceed, young man." "I am an American," Richard continued. "My name is Richard Lane. My father was very wealthy and I am his heir. My sister is Lady Weybourne.
Uncommonly bad marksmen Grex's private police were, or he'd be in the morgue instead of the hospital." "I gather that our friend is still alive?" Hunterleys remarked. "Going on as well as could be expected," Selingman replied. "Conscious?" Selingman smiled. "You see through my little visit of sympathy at once!" he exclaimed.
She was not directly responsible to the Duke of Omnium, but she was thoroughly permeated by a feeling that it was her duty to take care that there should be no clandestine love meetings in Lord Grex's house. At last Silverbridge jumped up from his chair. "Upon my word, Tregear, I think you had better go," said he. "So do I," said Miss Cassewary. "If it is an accident "
The quartette had somehow the appearance of conspirators who had not settled down to their work. It was the last arrival, the man who sat at Mr. Grex's right hand, who was responsible for the general unrest. Mr. Grex moved a little nervously in the chair which he had just drawn up to the table. He looked towards Draconmeyer as he opened the proceedings.
That Silverbridge had taken Mary he did understand, and that they had together gone to Lord Grex's house. He understood also that the meeting had taken place in the presence of Silverbridge and of Lady Mabel. "No doubt it was all an accident," Lady Cantrip wrote. How could it be an accident? "You had Mary up in town on Friday," he said to his son on the following Sunday morning. "Yes, sir."
Grex's face was marble in its whiteness. Monsieur Douaille, with a nervous sweep of his right arm, sent his glass crashing to the floor. They all looked in the same direction, up to the little music gallery. Leaning over in a careless attitude, with his arms folded upon the rail, was Richard Lane. "Say," he begged, "can I take a hand in this little discussion?"
In less than half a minute they had all fled, excepting the one who lay on the ground unconscious from the effects of Richard's blow, and the leader of the gang, whom Hunterleys still held by the throat. Richard, with a clasp-knife which he had drawn from his pocket, cut the cord which they had tied around Mr. Grex's wrists. His action, however, was altogether mechanical.
It takes at least an hour to get there, climbing all the way, and the place is as likely as not to be wrapped in clouds, but a great many of the important people are going, and as I happened to see Mr. Grex's name amongst the list of members, the other night, there is always a chance that they may be there. If not, you see, you can soon come back." "I'm on," Richard decided. "Give me the ticket.
Their eyes met and Richard was conscious of a sudden embarrassment. He felt like a detected thief, and he acted at that moment as he often did entirely on impulse. He leaned down and resolutely addressed Mr. Grex. "I should be glad, sir, if you would allow me to speak to you for a moment." Mr. Grex's expression was one of cold surprise, unmixed with any curiosity. "Do you address me?" he asked.
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