As he spoke, Archibald, close beside him, was looking at his watch. The hands stood at a quarter to two.
Margaret and her mother were seated in the parlour when Archibald arrived. Mrs. Milsom, who had elicited the fact that Archibald had not kept his appointment, had been saying “I told you so” for some time, and this had not improved Margaret’s temper. When, therefore, Archibald, damp and dishevelled, was shown in, the chill in the air nearly gave him frost-bite. Mrs. Milsom did her celebrated imitation of the Gorgon, while Margaret, lightly humming an air, picked up a weekly paper and became absorbed in it.
“Margaret, let me explain,” panted Archibald. Mrs. Milsom was understood to remark that she dared say. Matgaret’s attention was riveted by a fashion plate.
“Driving in a taximeter to the ferry this morning,” resumed Archibald, “I had an accident.”
This was the net result of some rather feverish brainwork on the way from the links to the cottage.
The periodical flapped to the floor.
“Oh, Archie, are you hurt?”
“A few scratches, nothing more; but it made me miss my train.”
“What train did you catch?” asked Mrs. Milsom sepulchrally.
“The one o’clock. I came straight on here from the station.”
“Why,” said Margaret, “Stuyvesant was coming home on the one o’clock train. Did you see him?”
Archibald’s jaw dropped slightly.
“Er—no,” he said.
“How curious,” said Margaret.
“Very curious,” said Archibald.
“Most curious,” said Mrs. Milsom.
They were still reflecting on the singularity of this fact when the door opened, and the son of the house entered in person.
“Thought I should find you here, Mealing,” he said. “They gave me this at the station to give to you; you dropped it this morning when you got out of the train.”
He handed Archibald the missing pouch.
“Thanks,” said the latter huskily. “When you say this morning, of course you mean this afternoon, but thanks all the same—thanks—thanks.”
“No, Archibald Mealing, he does not mean this afternoon,” said Mrs. Milsom. “Stuyvesant, speak! From what train did that guf—did Mr. Mealing alight when he dropped the tobacco-pouch?”
“The ten o’clock, the fellow told me. Said he would have given it back to him then only he sprinted off in the deuce of a hurry.”
Six eyes focussed themselves upon Archibald.