"You had a young lady with you."
"Yes. I was with Miss Scott."
Lord Arranmore's hand fell from the handle. His eyes seemed suddenly
full of fierce questioning. He moved a step forward into the room.
"Miss Scott? Who is she?"
Brooks was hopelessly bewildered, and showed it.
"She lives with her uncle in Medchester. He is a builder and timber
merchant."
Lord Arranmore was silent for a moment.
"Her father, then, is dead?" he asked.
"He died abroad, I think," Brooks answered, "but I really am not sure.
I know very little of any of them."
Lord Arranmore turned away.
"She is the image of a man I once knew," he remarked, "but after all,
the type is not an uncommon one. You won't forget that Busher will be
in this afternoon. He is a very intelligent fellow for his class, and
you may find it worth your while to ask him a few questions. Until
Thursday, then."
"Until Thursday," Brooks repeated, mechanically.
CHAPTER XI
WHO THE DEVIL IS BROOKS?
"To be tired," declared Sydney Molyneux, sinking into a low couch, "to
be downright dead dog-tired is the most delightful thing in the world.
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