"That is my name."
"Just got back from America?"
"I landed this morning."
"Sooner than expected, what?"
"So I imagine."
"Very glad to see you."
"You will not be long."
I took time off to do a bit of gulping. I saw now what had happened.
This bloke had been home, seen his wife, heard the story of the
accident, and had hastened round to slip it across me.
Evidently those roses had not sweetened the female of the species. The
only thing to do now seemed to be to take a stab at sweetening the male.
"Have a drink?" I said.
"No!"
"A cigarette?"
"No!"
"A chair?"
"No!"
I went into the silence once more. These non-drinking, non-smoking,
non-sitters are hard birds to handle.
"Don't grin at me, sir!"
I shot a glance at myself in the mirror and saw what he meant. The
sad half smile _had_ slopped over a bit. I adjusted it, and there was
another pause.
"Now, sir," said the Superb Souper, "to business. I think I need
scarcely tell you why I am here."
"No. Of course. Absolutely. It's about that little matter----"
He gave a snort which nearly upset a vase on the mantelpiece. "Little
matter? You consider it a little matter, do you?"
"Well----"
"Let me tell you, sir, that when I find that during my absence from the
country a man has been annoying my wife with his importunities I regard
it as anything but a little matter. And I shall endeavour," said the
Souper, as he rubbed his hands together in a hideous, menacing way, "to
make you see the thing in the same light."
I couldn't make head or tail of this. I simply couldn't follow him. The
lemon began to swim.
"Eh?" I said. "Your wife?"
"You heard me."
"There must be some mistake."
"There is. You made it."
"But I don't know your wife."
"Ha!"
"I've never even met her."
"Pshaw!"
"Honestly, I haven't."
"Bah!" He drank me in for a moment. "Do you deny you sent her flowers?"