"You may not be able to go," I pointed out. "It seems that there is
every possibility of a railway strike being declared to-night."
He glanced at the paragraph and returned the paper to me unmoved.
"It would not affect me," he said. "I travel everywhere by car. I think
after what has happened I shall go. In London I can acquit myself of my
trust. I see that the person who is empowered to take over my
responsibility is back in London a few days sooner than he was
expected."
I looked at the paragraph underneath the one which I had indicated,
which announced that a royal personage had returned to London a few days
earlier than intended, owing to the threatened strike.
"To-morrow," Kinlosti continued quietly, "I shall order my car and
depart. It will perhaps be better. If things get worse, they may
commandeer the petrol. I will rid myself of this responsibility and
either return or try Harrogate. You three will come up and have a bottle
of wine with me and some sandwiches?"
Rose, to my joy, was quite firm in her refusal. She returned with him to
his corner, however, and they sat there with their heads very close
together whilst Leonard and I fidgetted about in the lounge. A period of
quietude had followed the excitement of the last half-hour. Mr. Grant
had apparently fallen asleep in his easy chair. Mrs. Cotesham watched
him malevolently through her horn-rimmed spectacles.
"What a pity for a man to make such ugly noises when he's asleep!" she
remarked to her neighbour. "I wish some one would wake him up. He's
disturbing the whole room."
Mr. Grant opened one eye, then the other. Finally he sat up.
"Madam," he shouted, as she raised her trumpet to her ear, "you forget
that I am not like you--deaf!"
"I don't care whether you are or not," she replied. "I'm glad I woke you
up. Bed's the place for you."
"A coffin's the place for you," Mr. Grant muttered under his breath.
"How are you going to get away from here, ma'am?" he continued, raising
his tone. "I hear your rooms are let from to-morrow."
"I sha'n't ask you for a place in your car," she answered. "Very likely
I sha'n't go. They can't turn me out."
"I don't think they'll miss the opportunity," her interlocutor retorted,
with a sardonic smile.
She laid her speaking trumpet in her lap.
"I sha'n't listen to you any more," she declared. "You're a rude old
man. If it interests any one else to know what will become of me, I have
relatives in Bristol who will be only too glad for me to pay them a
visit."
"They'll be gladder to get rid of her," Mr. Grant observed, looking
around for sympathy.
At that moment the hall porter touched me on the shoulder. The
inevitable note was thrust into my hand.
"I found this on my desk just now, sir," he announced, in answer to my
look of enquiry. "Sorry I can't tell you how it got there."