The
club steward hovered near, anxiously directing the movements of a
silent and as yet undrilled corps of servants who flitted from group
to group with decanters and checks, taking and mistaking orders with
the usual abandon. A huge fireplace threw out heat sufficient to make
the big lounging room comfortable. Now and then a spiteful gust of
wind swept the rain against the western window-panes with a menace
that set the teeth on edge.
"Rotten night," reflected the big man who monopolised the roomiest
chair and the best position in front of the blazing logs. "Going to
town to-night?" The question was general: there were half a dozen
answers. Every one was going in by the last express. All of them had
dined well: they had been hungry and the club was a wealthy one; even
the most exclusive of appetites could be entertained at the Faraway
Country Club. The last 'bus was to leave the clubhouse at ten minutes
past ten, and it was then half-past eight. Ten minutes' drive from the
clubhouse on the edge of the little town to the railway station--then
thirty minutes to the heart of the big city in which the members lived
and died at great risk to themselves.
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