CHAPTER XXFawley, during the course of his wanderings about the world, had years ago decided upon London as his headquarters and occupied in his hours of leisure a very delightful apartment in the Albany. At ten o’clock on the evening following the ball at Dorrington House a freckled young man, still in flying clothes, was ushered into his room by the family servant whom he had brought with him from New York and established as caretaker.
“Mister Michael, sir,” the latter announced. “Shall I serve dinner now?”
“Cocktails first,” Fawley ordered, “then dinner as soon as you like. You won’t need to change, Micky. Just get out of those ghoulish-looking clothes, have your bath and put on a dressing gown or anything you like. That is, unless you want to go out. I am not moving myself this eveni
