"Oh--go to hell!" Wynne said thickly. And plunged out into the darkness.
CHAPTER VI
A SHOT IN THE DARK
The church clock, some distance over Herne's Hill which lies at the back
of Merriton Towers, broke the half silence that had fallen upon the
little group of men in the warm smoking room with twelve sonorous,
deep-throated notes. At sound of them Merriton got to his feet and
stretched his hands above his head. A damper had fallen over the spirits
of his guests after Wynne had gone out into the night on his foolish
errand, and the fury against him that had stirred Nigel's soul was
gradually wearing off.
"Well, Wynne said twelve, didn't he?" he remarked, with a sort of
half-laugh as he surveyed the grave faces of the men who were seated in
a semi-circle about him, "and twelve it is. We'll wait another half hour,
and then if he doesn't come we'll make a move for bed. He'll be playing
some beastly trick upon us, you may be sure of that. What a horrible
temperament the man has! He was supposed to be putting up with the
Brelliers to-night--old man Brellier was decent enough to ask him--and
possibly he'll simply turn in there and laugh to himself at the picture
of us chaps sitting here in the mornin' and waitin' for his return!"
Doctor Bartholomew shook his white head with a good deal of obstinacy.
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