"I am very grateful to you, Lord Stranleigh."
"What was your College at Oxford, Mr. Marlow?"
"I'm a Balliol man."
"Ah. I was at the House, myself, but did little to raise its reputation for scholarship. Come in, if you please."
Stranleigh pulled out his latch-key, but the moment his foot-falls sounded on the steps, the door was flung open, showing a brilliantly lighted hall.
"I say, Perkins," censured his master, "there was no necessity for sitting up to this hour. I carry a latch-key, you know. Anything to eat in the diggings, Perkins?"
"Yes, my lord. Cold chicken and 'am in the breakfast room, my lord; sandwiches various, veal-and-'am pie, cold roast beef, leg of lamb, patés various, and I can get you a Welsh rarebit, or grill a chop if you like, my lord."
"Oh, you don't need to trouble about chop or rarebit. There's enough already to banish sleep for the rest of the night. What is there to drink?"
"Bottled beer, ale and stout, my lord; a decanter of whisky, syphons of soda, and assorted minerals."
"What is your favourite tipple, Mr. Marlow? Make your choice," said the young man, jauntily.
"You seem to be very well provided, and the man must be hard to please who goes thirsty in the midst of such a supply."
