French shapes are no longer worn in silk hats. You occasionally see them in theatrical circles–”
Johnny put up a solemn hand.
“Parker, do not let us discuss my general shabbiness. I didn’t even know I had a hat of French shape.” He took off his hat and looked at it critically. “It is a much better shape than the hat I was wearing a week ago, Parker, believe me!”
“Of course I believe you, sir,” agreed Parker, and turned to the door.
Johnny dismissed his cab in Shaftesbury Avenue and walked down toward the club. It was dark now; half past nine had chimed as he came along Piccadilly.
It was a point of honour with all members of the Highlow that nobody drove up to the club, and its very existence was unknown to the taximen. That was a rule that had been made, and most faithfully adhered to; and the members of the Highlow observed their rules, for, if a breach did not involve a demand for their resignation, it occasionally brought about a broken head.
Just before he reached the club, he saw somebody cross the road. It was not difficult to recognise Jeff Legge. Just at that moment it would have been rather embarrassing for Johnny to have met the man. He turned and walked back the way he had come, to avoid the chance of their both going up in the elevator together.
Jeff Legge was in a hurry: the elevator did not move fast enough for him, and he stepped out on to the third floor and asked a question.
“No, sir, nobody has come. If they do, I’ll send them along to you. Where will you be? You haven’t a room engaged – your own room is taken. We don’t often let it, but we’re full tonight and Mr Legge raised no objection.”
“No, I don’t object,” said Jeff; “but don’t you worry about that. Let me see the book.”
Again the red-covered engagement book was opened. Jeff read and nodded.
“Fine,” he said. “Now tell me again who is here.”
“There is Mr George Kurlu, with a party of friends in No. 3; there’s Mr Bob Albutt and those two young ladies he goes about with – they’re in No. 4.” And so he recited until he came to No. 13.
“I know all about No. 13,” said Jeff Legge between his teeth. “You needn’t bother about me, however. That will do.”
He strode along the carpeted hallway, turned abruptly into the right-angled passage, and presently stopped before a door with a neat golden ‘13’ painted on its polished panel. He opened the door and went in. On the red-covered table was a bottle of wine and two glasses.
It was a moderately large room, furnished with a sofa, four dining-chairs and a deep easy chair, whilst against one wall was a small buffet. The room was brilliantly lighted. Six bracket lamps were blazing; the centre light above the table, with its frosted bulbs, was full on. He did not shut the door, leaving it slightly ajar. There was too much light for his purpose. He first switched out the bracket lamps, and then all but one of the frosted bulbs in the big shaded lamp over the table.
Then he sat down, his back to the door, his eyes on the empty fire-grate.
Presently he heard a sound, the whining of the elevator, and smiled. Johnny stepped out to the porter’s desk with a friendly nod.
“Good evening, Captain,” said the porter with a broad grin. “Glad to see you back, sir. I wasn’t here last night when you came in. Hope you haven’t had too bad a time in the country?”
“Abroad, my dear fellow, abroad,” murmured the other reproachfully, and the porter chuckled. “Same old crowd, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Same old bolt down the fire-escape when the ‘busies’ call – or have you got all the ‘busies’ straightened?”
“I don’t think there’s much trouble, sir,” said the porter. “We often have a couple of those gentlemen in here to dinner. The club’s very convenient sometimes. I shouldn’t think they’ll ever shut us up.”
“I shouldn’t think so, either,” said Johnny. “Which of the ‘busies’ do you
Johnny put up a solemn hand.
“Parker, do not let us discuss my general shabbiness. I didn’t even know I had a hat of French shape.” He took off his hat and looked at it critically. “It is a much better shape than the hat I was wearing a week ago, Parker, believe me!”
“Of course I believe you, sir,” agreed Parker, and turned to the door.
Johnny dismissed his cab in Shaftesbury Avenue and walked down toward the club. It was dark now; half past nine had chimed as he came along Piccadilly.
It was a point of honour with all members of the Highlow that nobody drove up to the club, and its very existence was unknown to the taximen. That was a rule that had been made, and most faithfully adhered to; and the members of the Highlow observed their rules, for, if a breach did not involve a demand for their resignation, it occasionally brought about a broken head.
Just before he reached the club, he saw somebody cross the road. It was not difficult to recognise Jeff Legge. Just at that moment it would have been rather embarrassing for Johnny to have met the man. He turned and walked back the way he had come, to avoid the chance of their both going up in the elevator together.
Jeff Legge was in a hurry: the elevator did not move fast enough for him, and he stepped out on to the third floor and asked a question.
“No, sir, nobody has come. If they do, I’ll send them along to you. Where will you be? You haven’t a room engaged – your own room is taken. We don’t often let it, but we’re full tonight and Mr Legge raised no objection.”
“No, I don’t object,” said Jeff; “but don’t you worry about that. Let me see the book.”
Again the red-covered engagement book was opened. Jeff read and nodded.
“Fine,” he said. “Now tell me again who is here.”
“There is Mr George Kurlu, with a party of friends in No. 3; there’s Mr Bob Albutt and those two young ladies he goes about with – they’re in No. 4.” And so he recited until he came to No. 13.
“I know all about No. 13,” said Jeff Legge between his teeth. “You needn’t bother about me, however. That will do.”
He strode along the carpeted hallway, turned abruptly into the right-angled passage, and presently stopped before a door with a neat golden ‘13’ painted on its polished panel. He opened the door and went in. On the red-covered table was a bottle of wine and two glasses.
It was a moderately large room, furnished with a sofa, four dining-chairs and a deep easy chair, whilst against one wall was a small buffet. The room was brilliantly lighted. Six bracket lamps were blazing; the centre light above the table, with its frosted bulbs, was full on. He did not shut the door, leaving it slightly ajar. There was too much light for his purpose. He first switched out the bracket lamps, and then all but one of the frosted bulbs in the big shaded lamp over the table.
Then he sat down, his back to the door, his eyes on the empty fire-grate.
Presently he heard a sound, the whining of the elevator, and smiled. Johnny stepped out to the porter’s desk with a friendly nod.
“Good evening, Captain,” said the porter with a broad grin. “Glad to see you back, sir. I wasn’t here last night when you came in. Hope you haven’t had too bad a time in the country?”
“Abroad, my dear fellow, abroad,” murmured the other reproachfully, and the porter chuckled. “Same old crowd, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Same old bolt down the fire-escape when the ‘busies’ call – or have you got all the ‘busies’ straightened?”
“I don’t think there’s much trouble, sir,” said the porter. “We often have a couple of those gentlemen in here to dinner. The club’s very convenient sometimes. I shouldn’t think they’ll ever shut us up.”
“I shouldn’t think so, either,” said Johnny. “Which of the ‘busies’ do you
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