"
"I will do my best," said Willoughby. "You are going? I could have won a
bet off you this afternoon."
"How?"
"You said that you did not let your cigars go out. This one's stone
cold."
"I forgot about it; I was thinking of Feversham. Good-bye."
He took a cab and drove away from the club door. Willoughby was glad to
see the last of him, but he was fairly satisfied with his own exhibition
of diplomacy. It would have been strange, after all, he thought, if he
had not been able to hoodwink poor old Durrance; and he returned to the
smoking-room and refreshed himself with a whiskey and potass.
Durrance, however, had not been hoodwinked. The last perplexing question
had been answered for him that afternoon. He remembered now that no
mention had been made at the dinner which could identify the sender of
the telegram. Feversham had read it without a word, and without a word
had crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire. But to-day Willoughby
had told him that it had come from Castleton, and Castleton had been
dining with a high official of the War Office. The particular act of
cowardice which had brought the three white feathers to Ramelton was
easy to discern.
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