He got off a telegram to Lord Polperro, and could do no more till nearly eleven o'clock at night.
Arriving headlong at Lowndes Mansions, he learnt with disgust what had gone on there in his absence.

And now, what defence had Gammon to offer?
What was his game?
"I guess pretty well what yours is, my boy," answered the listener.
"And I'm not sorry I've spoilt it." Thereupon he related the singular train of events between breakfast time this (or rather yesterday) morning and the ringing out of the old year.

When it came to a description of Lord Polperro's accident Greenacre lost all control of himself.
"Ass! blockhead! You know no better than to let such a man in his state of health get mixed up in a crowd of roughs at midnight?
Good God! He may die!" "I shouldn't wonder a bit," returned Gammon coolly.

"If he does it may be awkward for you, eh ?" From his story he had omitted one detail, thinking it better to keep silence about the burning of the will until he learnt more than Greenacre had as yet avowed to him.
"Fool!" blustered the other.

"Idiot!" "You'd better stop that, Greenacre, or I shan't be the only man with a black eye.