"The only advantage I can see in
living up there," he said, with a sly wink at Barnes, "is that one has
all the privileges of death without being put to the expense of
burial."
"How very extraordinary, Mr. O'Dowd," said Mrs. Collier, lifting her
lorgnon.
"Mrs. Collier has been reading my paper on the chateau country in
France," said Barnes mendaciously. (It had not yet been published, but
what of that?)
"Perfectly delightful," said Mrs. Collier, and at once changed the
subject.
De Soto's cocktails came in. Miss Cameron did not take one. O'Dowd
proposed a toast.
"To the rascals who went gunning for the other rascals. But for them
we should be short at least one member of this agreeable company."
It was rather startling. Barnes's glass stopped half-way to his lips.
An instant later he drained it. He accepted the toast as a compliment
from the whilom Irishman, and not as a tribute to the prowess of those
mysterious marksmen.
"Rather grewsome, O'Dowd," drawled Van Dyke, "but offset by the
foresightedness of the maker of this cocktail. Uncommonly good one, De
Soto."
The table in the spacious dining-room was one of those long, narrow
Italian boards, unmistakably antique and equally rare.
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