He remembered now that she was
rich and that he had sent her a ridiculously expensive present and a
congratulatory cablegram at the time of the wedding. Also, it occurred
to him that the Medcrofts had asked him to visit them at their
shooting-box for several seasons in succession, and that their town
house was always open to him. While he had not ignored the invitations,
he had never responded in person. He began to experience twinges of
remorse: Medcroft was such a good fellow!
The Londoner did not respond to the innocuous query. He merely stared
in a preoccupied, determined manner at the succeeding _etages_ as they
slipped downward. At the fourth floor they disembarked, and Brock led
the way to his rooms, overlooking the inner court. Once inside, with the
door closed, he turned upon the Englishman.
"Now, what's up, Rox? Are you in trouble?" he demanded.
"Are we quite alone?" Medcroft glanced significantly at the transom and
the half-closed bathroom door. With a laugh, Brock led him into the
bathroom and out, and then closed the transom.
"You're darned mysterious," he said, pointing to a chair near the
window. Medcroft drew another close up and seated himself.
"Brock," he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward impressively,
"I want you to go to Vienna in my place." Brock stared hard. "You are a
godsend, old man. You're just in time to do me the greatest of favours.
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