In the
artificial dusk, beyond the levels of shrouded billiard-tables, a white
form heaved up from two chairs on which it had been extended. The middle
of the day, table d'hote tiffin once over, was Schomberg's easy time. He
lounged out, portly, deliberate, on the defensive, the great fair beard
like a cuirass over his manly chest. He did not like Davidson, never a
very faithful client of his. He hit a bell on one of the tables as he
went by, and asked in a distant, Officer-in-Reserve manner:
"You desire?"
The good Davidson, still sponging his wet neck, declared with simplicity
that he had come to fetch away Heyst, as agreed.
"Not here!"
A Chinaman appeared in response to the bell. Schomberg turned to him
very severely:
"Take the gentleman's order."
Davidson had to be going. Couldn't wait--only begged that Heyst should
be informed that the Sissie would leave at midnight.
"Not--here, I am telling you!"
Davidson slapped his thigh in concern.
"Dear me! Hospital, I suppose." A natural enough surmise in a very
feverish locality.
The Lieutenant of the Reserve only pursed up his mouth and raised his
eyebrows without looking at him. It might have meant anything, but
Davidson dismissed the hospital idea with confidence. However, he had to
get hold of Heyst between this and midnight:
"He has been staying here?" he asked.
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