"He is an honest
man."
"I should like to question a regiment of his landladies," said
Rupert cynically.
"I must say, I think you can hardly regard him as unimpeachable
merely in himself," I said mildly; "his mode of life--"
Before I could complete the sentence the door was flung open and
Drummond Keith appeared again on the threshold, his white Panama
on his head.
"I say, Grant," he said, knocking off his cigarette ash against
the door, "I've got no money in the world till next April. Could
you lend me a hundred pounds? There's a good chap."
Rupert and I looked at each other in an ironical silence. Basil,
who was sitting by his desk, swung the chair round idly on its
screw and picked up a quill-pen.
"Shall I cross it?" he asked, opening a cheque-book.
"Really," began Rupert, with a rather nervous loudness, "since
Lieutenant Keith has seen fit to make this suggestion to Basil
before his family, I--"
"Here you are, Ugly," said Basil, fluttering a cheque in the
direction of the quite nonchalant officer. "Are you in a hurry?"
"Yes," replied Keith, in a rather abrupt way. "As a matter of fact
I want it now. I want to see my--er--business man."
Rupert was eyeing him sarcastically, and I could see that it was
on the tip of his tongue to say, inquiringly, "Receiver of stolen
goods, perhaps.
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