The other raised a face that was seamed with anxiety, and haggard in expression. Mackeller had none of that diplomacy of countenance which distinguished Lord Stranleigh, who would have made an excellent poker-player if he but knew the game. When Mackeller was angry, or glad, or disconcerted, you read it at once in his countenance.
"I want a few words with you," he said, so curtly that a listener might have thought he came to collect a bill.
"Naturally," laughed Stranleigh, "otherwise you wouldn't be here. You've dined, of course? It's after nine o'clock."
"I think so."
"Not sure whether you've dined or not? My dear fellow, you are allowing the important things of life to slip by you. Come with me to a committee room, where we will be alone, and I'll feed you with some sandwiches, or anything else you wish. Perhaps you'd prefer to go into the dining-room, and enjoy some supper with me?"
"No, I wish to see you alone."
"Very well."
He led him up a stairway, then along a corridor, and turned to the left into a medium-sized room where a fire was burning. He snapped on the electric light, pushed a button for the waiter, finally indicating a luxurious and enveloping leathern armchair, into which Peter sank. A waiter entered.
