CHAPTER VIII.
Wingate returned to his rooms at the Milan about eleven o'clock that evening, to find Roger Kendrick, Maurice White and the Honourable Jimmy Wilshaw stretched out in his most comfortable chairs, drinking whiskies and sodas and smoking cigarettes.
"Welcome!" he exclaimed, smiling upon them from the threshold.

"Are you all here?
Is there any one I forgot to invite ?" "The man's tone is inhospitable," the Honourable Jimmy murmured, showing no inclination to rise.
"I decline to apologise," Kendrick said.

"The fact of it is, we're here for your good, Wingate.

We are here to see that you do not die of ennui and loneliness in this stony-hearted city." "In other words," Maurice White chimed in, "we are here to take you to the great supper-party." "Well, I'm glad to hear about it," Wingate declared, giving his coat and hat to the valet who had followed him in.

"Why don't you fellows sit down and have a drink ?" "My dear fellow," Kendrick sighed, "sarcasm does not become you.