And I shall have to
tell him to go to the devil!"
He sat pen in hand, staring at the paper on his desk, his mind divided
between a bitter disgust with his day's work and the consciousness of a
deep central resolve, which that disgust did not affect, and would not be
allowed to affect. He was looking harassed, pale, and perceptibly older.
No doubt his general health had not yet fully recovered from his
accident. But those who disliked in him a certain natural haughtiness,
said that he had now more "side on" than ever.
A bell below warned him of Tatham's arrival. He hurriedly took out papers
from various drawers, and arranged them on the office table. They related
to the matter on which he thought Tatham might wish to confer with him.
His door opened.
"Hullo, Faversham! Hope you're quite strong," said the incomer.
"All right, thank you." The two men shook hands. "You've been doing
Scotland as usual?"
"Two months of it. Beastly few birds. Not at all sorry to come back.
Well, now--I've got something very surprising to talk to you about. I
say"--he looked round him--"we shan't be disturbed?"
Faversham rose, gave a telephone order and resumed his seat.
"Who do you think we've got staying at Duddon?"
"I haven't an idea. Have a cigarette?"
"Thanks. Has Melrose ever talked to you about his wife and daughter?"
Faversham stared, took a whiff at his cigarette, and put it down.
"Are you her to tell me anything about them?"
"They are staying at Duddon at this moment," said Tatham, watching his
effect; "arrived last night--penniless and starving.
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