The Yellow Crayon | Page 9

at eight-thirty in the general dining-room. At a
few minutes previous to that hour Mr. Skinner presented himself.

Mr. Skinner was not in the garb usually affected by men of the world
who are invited to dine out. The long day's exertion, too, had had its
effect upon his linen. His front, indeed, through a broad gap, confessed
to a foundation of blue, and one of his cuffs showed a marked
inclination to escape from his wrist over his knuckles. His face was
flushed, and he exhaled a strong odour of cigars and cocktails.
Nevertheless, Mr. Sabin was very glad to see him, and to receive the
folded sheet of paper which he at once produced.
"I have taken the liberty," Mr. Sabin remarked, on his part, "of adding a
trifle to the amount we first spoke of, which I beg you will accept from
me as a mark of my gratitude for your promptness."
"Sure!" Mr. Skinner answered tersely, receiving the little roll of bills
without hesitation, and retreating into a quiet corner, where he carefully
counted and examined every one. "That's all right!" he announced at
the conclusion of his task. "Come and have one with me now before
you read your little billet-doux, eh?"
"I shall not read your report until after dinner," Mr. Sabin said, "and I
think if you are ready that we might as well go in. At the head-waiter's
suggestion I have ordered a cocktail with the oysters, and if we are
much later he seemed to fear that it might affect the condition of the - I
think it was terrapin, he said."
Mr. Skinner stopped short. His tone betrayed emotion.
"Did you say terrapin, sir?"
Mr. Sabin nodded. Mr. Skinner at once took his arm.
"Guess we'll go right in," he declared. "I hate to have a good meal
spoiled."
They were an old-looking couple. Mr. Sabin quietly but faultlessly
attired in the usual evening dinner garb, Mr. Skinner ill-dressed, untidy,
unwashed and frowsy. But here at least Mr. Sabin's incognito had been
unavailing, for he had stayed at the hotel several times - as he

remembered with an odd little pang - with Lucille, and the head-waiter,
with a low bow, ushered them to their table. Mr. Skinner saw the
preparations for their repast, the oysters, the cocktails in tall glasses, the
magnum of champagne in ice, and chuckled. To take supper with a
duke was a novelty to him, but he was not shy. He sat down and tucked
his serviette into his waistcoat, raised his glass, and suddenly set it
down again.
"The boss!" he exclaimed in amazement.
Mr. Sabin turned his head in the direction which his companion had
indicated. Coming hastily across the room towards them, already out of
breath as though with much hurrying, was a thick-set, powerful man,
with the brutal face and coarse lips of a prizefighter; a beard cropped so
short as to seem the growth of a few days only covered his chin, and his
moustache, treated in the same way, was not thick enough to conceal a
cruel mouth. He was carefully enough dressed, and a great diamond
flashed from his tie. There was a red mark round his forehead where his
hat had been, and the perspiration was streaming from his forehead. He
strode without hesitation to the table where Mr. Sabin and his guest
were sitting, and without even a glance at the former turned upon his
myrmidon.
"Where's that report?" he cried roughly. "'Where is it?"
Mr. Skinner seemed to have shrunk into a smaller man. He pointed
across the table.
"I've given it to him," he said. "What's wrong, boss?"
The newcomer raised his hand as though to strike Skinner. He gnashed
his teeth with the effort to control himself.
"You damned blithering idiot," he said hoarsely, gripping the side of
the table. "Why wasn't it presented to me first?"
"Guess it didn't seem worth while," Skinner answered. "There's nothing
in the darned thing."

"You ignorant fool, hold your tongue," was the fierce reply.
The newcomer sank into a chair and wiped the perspiration from his
streaming forehead. Mr. Sabin signaled to a waiter.
"You seem upset, Mr. Horser," he remarked politely. "Allow me to
offer you a glass of wine.
Mr. Horser did not immediately reply, but he accepted the glass which
the waiter brought him, and after a moment's hesitation drained its
contents. Then he turned to Mr. Sabin.
"You said nothing about those letters you had had when you came to
see me this morning!"
"It was you yourself," Mr. Sabin reminded him, "who begged me not to
enter into particulars. You sent me on to Mr. Skinner. I told him
everything."
Mr. Horser leaned over the table. His eyes were bloodshot, his tone was
fierce