The Club of Queer Trades
Then, by Basil's arrangement, we dragged him into a small court by the street side and waited. As I say, I had no notion why.
"I am sorry to incommode you," said Basil, calmly, out of the darkness; "but I have made an appointment here."
"An appointment!" I said, blankly.
"Yes," he said, glancing calmly at the apoplectic old aristocrat gagged on the ground, whose eyes were starting impotently from his head. "I have made an appointment here with a thoroughly nice young fellow. An old friend. Jasper Drummond his name is—you may have met him this afternoon at the Beaumonts'. He can scarcely come though till the Beaumonts' dinner is over."
For I do not know how many hours we stood there calmly in the darkness. By the time those hours were over I had thoroughly made up my mind that the same thing had happened which had happened long ago on the bench of a British court of justice. Basil Grant had gone mad. I could imagine no other explanation of the facts, with the port-
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