“It is not a common way of collecting guests,” said Brackenbury: “but
an eccentric man might very well indulge the whim without any intention
to offend. And suppose that I refuse Mr. Morris’s invitation,” he went
on, “what then?”
“My orders are to drive you back where I took you from,” replied the
man, “and set out to look for others up to midnight. Those who have no
fancy for such an adventure, Mr. Morris said, were not the guests for
him.”
These words decided the Lieutenant on the spot.
“After all,” he reflected, as he descended from the hansom, “I have not
had long to wait for my adventure.”
He had hardly found footing on the side-walk, and was still feeling in
his pocket for the fare, when the cab swung about and drove off by the
way it came at the former break-neck velocity. Brackenbury shouted
after the man, who paid no heed, and continued to drive away; but the
sound of his voice was overheard in the house, the door was again
thrown open, emitting a flood of light upon the garden, and a servant
ran down to meet him holding an umbrella.
“The cabman has been paid,” observed the servant in a very civil tone;
and he proceeded to escort Brackenbury along the path and up the steps.
In the hall several other attendants relieved him of his hat, cane, and
paletot, gave him a ticket with a number in return, and politely
hurried him up a stair adorned with tropical flowers, to the door of an
apartment on the first storey. Here a grave butler inquired his name,
and announcing “Lieutenant Brackenbury Rich,” ushered him into the
drawing-room of the house.
A young man, slender and singularly handsome, came forward and greeted
him with an air at once courtly and affectionate. Hundreds of candles,
of the finest wax, lit up a room that was perfumed, like the staircase,
with a profusion of rare and beautiful flowering shrubs. A side-table
was loaded with tempting viands. Several servants went to and fro with
fruits and goblets of champagne. The company was perhaps sixteen in
number, all men, few beyond the prime of life, and with hardly an
exception, of a dashing and capable exterior. They were divided into
two groups, one about a roulette board, and the other surrounding a
table at which one of their number held a bank of baccarat.
“I see,” thought Brackenbury, “I am in a private gambling saloon, and
the cabman was a tout.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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