Part 24 (1/2)

I had mentioned a man for whose work I knew Tommy entertained a profound respect.

”Oh, come in,” he cried, swinging open the door and gripping my hand; ”come in, old chap. Delighted to see you. The place is in a h.e.l.l of a mess, but you won't mind that. I've only just got back from sailing.”

He dragged me into the studio, which was in the same state of picturesque confusion as when I had last seen it, and pulling up a large easy-chair thrust me down into its capacious depths.

”I'm awfully glad I was in,” he went on. ”I wouldn't have missed you for the world. How's old Delacour? I haven't seen him for ages. I never get over to Paris these days.”

”Delacour's all right,” I answered--”at least, as far as I know.”

Tommy walked across the room to a corner cupboard. ”You'll have a drink, won't you?” he asked; ”there's whisky and brandy, and Grand Marnier, and I've got a bottle of port somewhere if you'd care for a gla.s.s.”

There was a short pause. Then in my natural voice I remarked quietly and distinctly: ”You were always a drunken old blackguard, Tommy.”

The effect was immense. For a moment Tommy remained perfectly still, his mouth open, his eyes almost starting out of his head. Then quite suddenly he sat down heavily on the couch, clutching a bottle of whisky in one hand and a tumbler in the other.

”Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!” he whispered.

”Never mind, Tommy,” I said cheerfully; ”you'll be in the very best society.”

CHAPTER XIII

REGARDING MR. BRUCE LATIMER

For perhaps a second Tommy remained motionless; then sitting up he removed the cork, and poured himself out about a quarter of a tumbler of neat spirit. He drained this off at a gulp, and put down both the gla.s.s and the bottle.

”G.o.d deliver us!” he observed; ”is it really you?”

I nodded. ”What's left of me, Tommy.”

He jumped to his feet, and the next moment he was crus.h.i.+ng my hands with a grip that would have broken some people's fingers. ”You old ruffian!” he muttered; ”I always said you'd do something like this.

Lord alive, it's good to see you, though!” Then, pulling me up out of the chair, he caught me by the shoulders and stared incredulously into my face. ”But what the devil's happened? What have you done to yourself?”

”I know what I'm going to do to myself,” I replied. ”I am going to get outside some of that drink you were talking about--if there's any left.”

With something between a laugh and a choke he let me go, and crossing to the couch picked up the whisky and splashed out a generous tot into the gla.s.s.

”Here you are--and I'm hanged if I don't have another one myself. I believe I could drink the whole bottle without turning a hair.”

”I'm quite sure you could, Tommy,” I said, ”unless you've deteriorated.”

We raised our tumblers and clinked them together with a force that cracked mine from the rim to the bottom. I drained off the contents, however, before they could escape, and flung the broken gla.s.s into the fireplace.

”It would have been blasphemous to drink out of it again in any case,”

I said.

With a big, happy laugh Tommy followed my example. Then he came up again and caught me by the arm, as though to make sure that I was still there.

”Neil, old son,” he said, ”I'm so glad to see you that I shall start wrecking the blessed studio in a minute. For G.o.d's sake tell me what it all means.”