"In other words, I suppose you have traced Rawlins to Scarsdale Sands?"
"How clever you are," said Chris, admiringly. "Walen's American and
Lockhart's American, with the modest pseudonym of John Smith, are what
Mrs. Malaprop would call three single gentlemen rolled into one. We are
going to make the acquaintance of John Smith Rawlins."
"Oh, indeed, and when do we start, may I ask?"
Chris responded coolly that she hoped to get away in the course of the
day. With a great show of virtuous resignation Lord Littimer consented.
"I have always been the jest of fortune," he said, plaintively; "but I
never expected to be dragged all over the place at my time of life by a
girl who is anxious to make me acquainted with the choicest blackguardism
in the kingdom. I leave my happy home, my cook, and my cellar, for at
least a week of hotel living. Well, one can only die once."
Chris bustled away to make the necessary arrangements. Some few hours
later Lord Littimer was looking out from his luxurious private
sitting-room with the assumption of being a martyr. He and Chris were
dressed for dinner; they were waiting for the bell to summon them to the
dining-room.
Pages:
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472