Luckily Mrs. Terrill, by her simple device of opening the folding doors
that separated the drawing-room from the breakfast-room, was able to
offer one fair sized apartment for the accommodation of her guests.
Built almost identically on the same lines as that occupied by the Duke,
No. 66 had been transferred (as the _Lewisham and Lee Mail_ in a
breathless article described it) into "a veritable bower of roses
equalling in stateliness and expensiveness the most splendid habitations
of Belgravia and the West End."
It was Hal's idea that the conservatory at the back, and which, as in
the Duke's house, was an _annexe_ to the breakfast room, should be
converted, by means of three flags and a red carpet ("a lavish display
of bunting," said the _Lewisham and Lee Mail_), into a sort of throne
room. Hither Tuppy was conducted.
Tuppy was very irritable and very beautiful in his dress kit, and one by
one the guests were ushered into the presence.
Hal was a self-appointed M.C.
"Mr. Gosser and Miss Gosser," announced Hal.
"Glad to see you--how do you do."
"Mr. James Fenton, Mrs. James Fenton and Mr. Fenton, Junior."
"Happy to meet you--how de do?"
"Mr. Copley, Mr. Minting, Mr. Arthur Brown."
"Oh damn it! How de do, how de do?" wearily. It must be understood
that much of Tuppy's greeting was _sotto voce_.
"Miss Sprager, who's a very fine fiddle player."
"How de do--beastly cold isn't it?"
"Mr. Willie Sime--brought any songs, Sime?"
"Got a shocking cold, old chap."
"Thank heavens--glad to meet you, Mr. Sime."
"Mrs. Outram."
"Weird old bird--how are you, Mrs. Outram, glad to meet you."
"Mr. R. B. Rake, B.A. The editor of the _Lewisham_----"
"I am honoured to make your acquaintance, my lord," said the boisterous
journalist, "there is no more pleasing feature of our modern life than
the democratizing of the peerage."
"Noisy devil! How de do--glad to meet you."
"Mr. Pulser, Mrs. Pulser, Miss Pulser."
"Oh Lord! how many more of em? Glad to meet you, how de do?" There was
scarcely room to move, the guests overflowed into the hall and on to the
stairs.
Sir Harry, wedged in one corner, surveyed the scene with a glow of
pardonable pride. To him it represented the Duke's _coup de grace_.
Mr. Rake wormed his way through the press of people to his side.
"Well, sir?" demanded Mr. Rake.
He said this in a tone that suggested that he had only omitted "what did
I tell you?" out of pure politeness.
For Mr. Rake had an unpleasant knack of claiming personal credit for all
and sundry happenings, from weddings to earthquakes, no matter how
little he had to do with their instigation, that had earned for him
amongst his colleagues the title of "Prophet of the Afterwards."
"This, I think," Mr. Rake went on, "effectively settles our friend."
Sir Harry nodded.
"The letter of course was the official suicide, this might aptly be
described as the wake."