One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. "My child!" he groaned faintly. ‘Exactly like my father. . Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse.
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