CHAPTER NINE
BREAKFAST FOR ONE
IT was broad daylight when he woke. Splashes of sunlight were on the floor, and outside a cart clattered cheerfully. Rising stiffly, he was aware of a crick in the neck and of that unpleasant sensation of semi-suffocation which comes to those who spend the night in a disused room with the windows closed. More even than a bath and a shave, he desired fresh air. He made his way down the passage to the window by which he had entered. Outside, glimpses of a garden were visible. He climbed through and drew a deep breath.
The rain of the night had left the world sweet and clean. The ragged grass was all jewelled in the sunshine, and birds were singing in the trees. Sam stood drinking in the freshness of it all, feeling better every instant.
Finally, having performed a few of those bending and stretching exercises which form such an admirable corrective to the effects of a disturbed night, he strolled down the garden path, wishing he could somehow and at no very distant date connect with a little breakfast.
“For goodness sake!”
He looked up. Over the fence which divided the garden from the one next door a familiar face was peering. It was his hostess of last night. But, whereas then she had been curling-pinned and dressing-gowned, she was now neatly clad in print and wore on her head a becoming cap. Her face, moreover, which had been hard and hostile, was softened by a friendly grin.
“Good morning,” said Sam.
“How did you get there?”
“When you turned me out into the night,” said Sam reproachfully, “I took refuge next door.”
“I say, I’m sorry about that,” said the girl remorsefully. “But how was I to know that you were telling the truth?” She giggled happily. “Mr. Braddock came back half an hour after you had left. He made such a rare old row that I came down again——”
“And shot him, I hope. No? A mistake, I think.”
“Well, then, he asked where you were. He said your name was Evans.”
“He was a little confused. My name is Shotter. I warned you that he was not quite himself. What became of him then?”
“He went up to bed. I’ve just taken him up a tray, but all he did was to look at it and moan and shut his eyes again. I say, have you had any breakfast?”
“Don’t torture me.”
“Well, hop over the fence then. I’ll get you some in two ticks.”
Sam hopped. The sun seemed very bright now, and the birds were singing with a singular sweetness.
“Would it also run to a shave and a bath?” he asked, as they walked toward the house.
“You’ll find Mr. Wrenn’s shaving things in the bathroom.”
“Is this heaven?” said Sam. “Shall I also find Mr. Wrenn by any chance?”
“Oh, no, him and Miss Kay have been gone half an hour.”
“Excellent! Where is this bathroom?”
“Up those stairs, first door to the left. When you come down, go into that room there, and I’ll bring the tray in. It’s the drawing-room, but the dining-room table isn’t cleared yet.”
“I shall enjoy seeing your drawing-room, of which I have heard so much.”
“Do you like eggs?”
“I do—and plenty of them. Also bacon—a good deal of bacon. Oh, and by the way——” added Sam, leaning over the banisters.
“Yes?”
“——toast—lots and lots of toast.”
“I’ll get you all you can eat.”
“You will? Tell me,” said Sam, “it has been puzzling me greatly. How do you manage to get that dress on over your wings?”