He shut it out, and resumed his
tramp.
The return of his messenger brought him to a standstill.
"Captain Grange was there, sir. Here is his answer."
Nick grabbed the note with a gesture that might have indicated either
impatience or relief. He held the envelope between his teeth to slit
it open, and they left a deep mark upon it.
"Dear Ratcliffe," he read. "If I can get to you through this
murderous storm, I will. Expect me at eight o'clock.--Yours,
B. Grange."
"All right," said Nick over his shoulder. "Captain Grange will dine
with me."
With the words he dropped the note into the fire, and then went away
to dress.
CHAPTER XXXIX
BY SINGLE COMBAT
By eight o'clock Nick was lounging in the hall, awaiting his guest,
but it was more than a quarter of an hour later that the latter
presented himself.
Nick himself admitted him with a cheery grin. "Come in," he said.
"You've had a pretty filthy walk."
"Infernal," said Grange gloomily.
He entered with a heavy, rather bullied air, as if he had come against
his will. Shaking hands with his host, he glanced at him somewhat
suspiciously.
"Glad you managed to come," said Nick hospitably.
"What did you want to see me for?" asked Grange.
"The pleasure of your society, of course." Nick's benignity was
unassailable, but there was a sharp edge to it somewhere of which
Grange was uneasily aware.
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