The two exhausted men
chuckled hideously.
"Some playing cards," Wingate directed, suddenly breaking into speech.
"Open that sideboard, Grant. Bring out the sandwiches and biscuits and
fruit. That's right. And some glasses. Open the champagne quickly.
Cigars, too. Here--shut the door. We must have a moment or two at this.
You understand, Grant---a debauch!"
The two moved about like lightning. In an incredibly short time, the room
presented a strange appearance. The table before which the three men had
kept their weary vigil was littered all over with playing cards, cigar
ash, fragments of broken wine glasses. A half-empty bottle of champagne
stood on the floor. Two empty ones, their contents emptied into some
bowls of flowers, lay on their sides. Another pack of cards was scattered
upon the carpet. A chair was overturned. There was every indication of a
late-night sitting and a debauch. Last of all, Grant and Wingate between
them carried the body of Lord Dredlinton behind the screen and laid it
upon the sofa. Then the latter stood back and surveyed his work.
"That will do," he said. "Wait one moment, Grant, before you show the
inspector in. I have a word to say first to my two friends here."
Phipps scowled across the table, heavy-eyed and sullen. There were black
lines under his eyes, in which the gleam of hunger still lurked.
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