absence from the shooting.

Mr. Vandewaters was cool enough. He said that he had been playing at
nine-pins with railways, which was good enough sport for him. Soon after
dinner, he was handed two telegrams. He glanced slowly up at Pride, as if
debating whether to tell him something. He evidently decided against it,
and, excusing himself by saying he was off to take a little walk in Wall
Street, went away to the telegraph office, where he stayed three hours.

The magnitude of the concerns, the admirable stoicism with which he
received alarming news, his dry humour while they waited between
messages--all were so unlike anything the telegraph-clerk had ever seen,
or imagined, that the thing was like a preposterous dream. Even when, at
last, a telegram came which the clerk vaguely felt was, somehow, like the
fall of an empire, Mr. Vandewaters remained unmoved. Then he sent one
more telegram, gave the clerk a pound, asked that the reply be sent to
him as soon as it came, and went away, calmly smoking his cigar.

It was a mild night. When he got to the house he found some of the guests
walking on the veranda. He joined them; but Miss Raglan was not with
them; nor were Lady Lawless and Mr. Pride. He wanted to see all three,
and so he went into the house. There was no one in the drawing-room. He
reached the library in time to hear Lady Lawless say to Mr. Pride, who
was disappearing through another door: "You had better ask advice of Mr.
Vandewaters."

The door closed. Mr. Vandewaters stepped forward.

He understood the situation. "I guess I know how to advise him, Lady
Lawless," he said.