"The credit of it all rests entirely with Peterby," said Barnabas.
"John--where are you?" But Peterby had disappeared.
"You're the most incomprehensible fellow, Bev," said the Viscount,
seating himself on the edge of the table and swinging his leg.
"You have been a constant surprise to me ever since you found
me--er--let us say--ruminating in the bilboes, and now"--here he
shook his head gravely--"and now it seems you are to become a source
of infernal worry and anxiety as well."
"I hope not, Dick."
"You are, though," repeated the Viscount, looking graver than ever.
"Why?"
"Because--well, because you are evidently bent upon dying young."
"How so, Dick?"
"Well, if you ride in the race and don't break your neck, Carnaby
will want a word with you; and if he doesn't shoot you, why then
Chichester certainly will--next time, damn him!"
"Next time?"
"Oh, I know all about your little affair with him--across the table.
Gad, Beverley, what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!"
"But--how do you know of this?"
"From Clemency."
"So you've seen her again, Dick?"
"Yes, of course; that is, I took 'Moonraker' for a gallop yesterday,
and--happened to be that way.
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