The course of his peregrinations brought him into the vicinity of an inspector whose attitude betokened respect while his presence raised hope.
“Is there any reason to suppose that your train is coming?” he inquired of the official.
“Signalled now, my lord,” replied the inspector, touching his cap.
“And what does that mean?” uncompromisingly ignorant of technical parlance.
“It will be in in one minute, my lord.”
Sir John’s hand was over his lips as he walked back to the carriage, casting as it were the commander’s eye over the field.
“When the crowd is round the train you come and look for me,” he said to the footman, who touched his cockaded hat in silence.
At that moment the train lumbered in, the engine wearing that inanely self-important air affected by locomotives of the larger build. From all quarters an army of porters besieged the platform, and in a few seconds Sir John was in the centre of an agitated crowd. There was one other calm man on that platform—another man with no parcels, whom no one sought to embrace. His brown face and close-cropped head towered above a sea of agitated bonnets. Sir John, whose walk in life had been through crowds, elbowed his way forward and deliberately walked against Guy Oscard.
“D⸺n it!” he exclaimed, turning round. “Ah—Mr. Oscard—how d’ye do?”
“How are you?” replied Guy Oscard, really glad to see him.
“You are a good man for a crowd; I think I will follow in your wake,” said Sir John. “A number of people—of the baser sort. Got my carriage here somewhere. Fool of a man looking for me in the wrong place, no doubt. Where are you going? May I offer you a lift? This way. Here, John, take Mr. Oscard’s parcels.”
He could not have done it better in his keenest day. Guy Oscard was seated in the huge, roomy carriage before he had realised what had happened to him.
“Your man will look after your traps, I suppose?” said Sir John, hospitably drawing the fur rug from the opposite seat.
“Yes,” replied Guy, “although he is not my man. He is Jack’s man, Joseph.”
“Ah, of course; excellent servant, too. Jack told me he had left him with you.”
Sir John leant out of the window and asked the footman whether he knew his colleague Joseph, and upon receiving an answer in the affirmative he gave orders—acting as Guy’s mouthpiece—that the luggage was to be conveyed to Russell Square. While these orders were being executed the two men sat waiting in the carriage, and Sir John lost no time.
“I am glad,” he said, “to have this opportunity of thanking you for all your kindness to my son in this wild expedition of yours.”
“Yes,” replied Oscard, with a transparent reserve which rather puzzled Sir John.
“You must excuse me,” said the old gentleman, sitting rather stiffly, “if I appear to take a somewhat limited interest in this great Simiacine discovery, of which there has been considerable talk in some circles. The limit to my interest is drawn by a lamentable ignorance. I am afraid the business details are rather unintelligible to me. My son has endeavoured, somewhat cursorily perhaps, to explain the matter to me, but I have never mastered the—er—commercial technicalities. However, I understand that you have made quite a mint of money, which is the chief consideration—nowadays.”
He drew the rug more closely round his knees and looked out of the window, deeply interested in a dispute between two cabmen.
“Yes—we have been very successful,” said Oscard. “How is your son now? When I last saw him he was in a very bad way. Indeed, I hardly expected to see him again!”
Sir John was still interested in the dispute, which was not yet settled.
“He is well, thank you. You know that he is going to be married.”
“He told me that he was engaged,” replied Oscard; “but I did not know that anything definite was fixed.”
“The most definite thing of all is fixed—the date. It is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes. You have not much time to prepare your wedding garments.”
“Oh,” replied Oscard, with a laugh, “I have not been bidden.”
“I expect the invitation is awaiting you at your house. No doubt my son will want you to be present—they would both like you to be there, no doubt. But come with me now; we will call and see Jack. I know where to find him. In fact, I have an appointment with him at a quarter to five.”
It may seem strange that Guy Oscard should not have asked the name of his friend’s prospective bride, but Sir John was ready for that. He gave his companion no time. Whenever he opened his lips Sir John turned Oscard’s thoughts aside.
What he had told him was strictly true. He had an appointment with Jack—an appointment of his own making.
“Yes,” he said, in pursuance of his policy of choking questions, “he is wonderfully well, as you will see for yourself.”
Oscard submitted silently to this high-handed arrangement. He had not known Sir John well. Indeed, all his intercourse with him has been noted in these pages. He was rather surprised to find him so talkative and so very friendly. But Guy Oscard was not a very deep person. He was sublimely indifferent to the Longdrawn Motive. He presumed that Sir John made friends of his son’s friends; and in his straightforward acceptance of facts he was perfectly well aware that by his timely rescue he had saved Jack Meredith from the hands of the tribes. The presumption was that Sir John knew of this, and it was only natural that he should be somewhat exceptionally gracious to the man who had saved his son’s life.
It would seem that Sir John divined these thoughts, for he presently spoke of them.
“Owing to an unfortunate difference of opinion with my son we have not been very communicative lately,” he said, with that deliberation which he knew how to assume when he desired to be heard without interruption. “I am
