CHAPTER FIVEThe Honourable Hugo Waltham sat at the éscritoire in the library and then bit the end of his quill pen reflectively.
The formal garden outside was flooded with sunshine. A goldfish pool in the centre of it was surrounded by marble nymphs provocatively draped and at the far end there was an arbour cunningly contrived of climbing roses that were luxuriant and fragrant in their profusion.
But Hugo Waltham saw none of these things.
There was a deep frown between his eyes as he stared unseeingly into the early sunshine and his face was as unsmiling as a March morning. He was by no means a good-looking man for his nose was too long and his jaw too narrow for good looks, but there was something pleasant about his face and that he was to be trusted was as obvious as the fact that hi
