Pull yourself
together, Stanley! Go into that corner, behind the curtain. Wait your
time!"
Stanley rose slowly to his feet. His face was drawn as though with pain.
"It isn't so much the money," he muttered, "only I thought--I fancied they
would have been there to meet me, to shake me by the hand, to stay with
me! And they wanted to push me off out of the country!"
He opened his lips a little wider and swore, softly but vindictively. Then
the bell rang. Mr. Bundercombe hastened to push him out of sight. We heard
the sound of strange voices in the hall. When the door was opened it was
obvious that the whole house was lit up. From somewhere in the distance
came the soft music of a piano.
Mr. Harding and Mr. Densmore were announced. I looked at them curiously.
They were both most correctly dressed in evening clothes. They both had
somehow the hard expression of worldly men, tempered not altogether
pleasantly by symptoms of good living. They greeted Mr. Bundercombe with
bluff heartiness. He gave them each a hand.
"Now, my friends," he said, "welcome to my house! Paul," he added, turning
to me, "let me introduce my two friends, Mr. Harding and Mr. Densmore--Mr.
Paul Walmsley. Mr. Walmsley has just been returned for the western
division of Bedfordshire.
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