“It’s no use trying to deceive me,” I observed. “That was Mrs. Hilary, I think; if you don’t mind, I’ll join her.”
“I’m afraid I must trouble you to take a seat for a few moments, Mr. Carter,” said Rhadamanthus, “while I run over your little account.”
“Any formalities which are usual,” I murmured politely, as I sat down.
Rhadamanthus turned over the leaves of a large book.
“Carter—Samuel Travers, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes. For goodness sake don’t confuse me with Vincent Carter. He only paid five shillings in the pound.”
“Your case presents some peculiar4 features, Mr. Carter,” said Rhadamanthus. “I hope I am not censorious, but—well, that fine at Bowstreet?”
“I was a mere5 boy,” said I, with some warmth, “and my solicitor6 grossly mismanaged the case..”
“Well, well!” said he soothingly7. “But haven’t you spent a great deal of time at Monte Carlo?”
“A man must be somewhere,” said I.
Rhadamanthus scratched his nose.
“I should have wasted the money anyhow,” I added.
“I suppose you would,” he conceded. “But what of this caveat8 lodged9 by the Dowager Lady Mickleham? That’s rather serious, you know; isn’t it now—joking apart?”
“I am disappointed,” I remarked, “to find a man of your experience paying any attention to such an ill-natured old woman.”
“We have our rules,” he replied, “and I’m afraid, Mr. Carter, that until that caveat is removed—”
“You don’t mean that?”
“Really, I’m afraid so.”
“Then I may as well go back,” said I, taking my hat.
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
“Although I can’t oblige you with an order of admission,” said Rhadamanthus, very civilly, “perhaps it would amuse you to listen to a case or two. There’s no hurry, you know. You’ve got lots of time before you.”
“It will be an extremely interesting experience,” said I, sitting down again.
The door opened, and, as I expected (I don’t know why, but it happens like that in dreams), Dolly Mickleham came in. She did not seem to see me. She bowed to Rhadamanthus, smiled, and took a chair immediately opposite the table.
“Mickleham—Dorothea—Countess of—” she said.
“Formerly, I think, Dolly Foster?” asked Rhadamanthus.
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,” said Dolly.
“The account runs on,” he explained, and began to consult his big book. Dolly leant back in her chair, slowly peeling off her gloves. Rhadamanthus shut the book with a bang.
“It’s not the least use,” he said decisively. “It wouldn’t be kind to pretend that it was, Lady Mickleham.”
“Dear, dear,” said Dolly. “What’s the matter?”
“Half the women in London have petitioned against you.”
“Have they, really?” cried Dolly, to all appearance rather delighted. “What do they say, Mr. Rhadamanthus? Is it in that book? Let me look.” And she held out her hand.
“The book’s too heavy for you to hold,” said he.
“I’ll come round,” said Dolly. So she went round and leant over his shoulder and read the book.
“What’s that scent10 you’ve got on?” asked Rhadamanthus.
“Bouquet du diable,” said she. (I had never heard of the perfume before.) “Isn’t it sweet?”
“I haven’t smelt11 it since I was a boy,” sighed Rhadamanthus.
“Poor old thing,” said Dolly. “I’m not going to read all this, you know.” And, with a somewhat contemptuous smile, she walked back to her chair. “They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” she added, as she sat down. “It’s just because I’m not a fright.”
“Aren’t you a fright?” asked Rhadamanthus. “Where are my spectacles?”
He put them on and looked at Dolly.
“I must go in, you know,” said Dolly, smiling at Rhadamanthus. “My husband has gone in!”
“I shouldn’t have thought you’d consider that conclusive,” said he, with a touch of satire
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