Bill was
too sleepy to say anything.
The Good Sport lived round the corner, and only required Lord
Dawlish's escort for a couple of hundred yards. But Miss Leonard's
hotel was in the neighbourhood of Washington Square, and it was
Nutty's pleasing task to drive her thither. Engaged thus, he
received a shock that electrified him.
'That pal of yours,' said Miss Leonard, drowsily--she was
half-asleep--'what did you say his name was?'
'Chalmers, he told me. I only met him to-night.'
'Well, it isn't; it's something else. It'--Miss Leonard
yawned--'it's Lord something.'
'How do you mean, "Lord something"?'
'He's a lord--at least, he was when I met him in London.'
'Are you sure you met him in London?'
'Of course I'm sure. He was at that supper Captain Delaney gave at
Oddy's. There can't be two men in England who dance like that!'
The recollection of Bill's performance stimulated Miss Leonard
into a temporary wakefulness, and she giggled.
'He danced just the same way that night in London. I wish I could
remember his name. I almost had it a dozen times tonight. It's
something with a window in it.'
'A window?' Nutty's brain was a little fatigued and he felt
himself unequal to grasping this. 'How do you mean, a window?'
'No, not a window--a door! I knew it was something about a house.
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