"Neither do I," replied his host. "Only we may as well understand each other. You're quite welcome to come to the palace as long as you remember to be a gentleman before you are a journalist. But if you forget it, I'll be forced to treat you as you deserve," and turning on his heel, he left Marchmont chewing the ends of his sandy moustache with a grim avidity that boded ill for the peace of the Bishop and his household.
The American told himself that he must work carefully. Banborough would watch him and probably put the others on their guard. And moreover, he would not hesitate to dismiss him from the palace, which, apart from the unpleasantness of the operation, would be well-nigh fatal to the success of the scheme the journalist was maturing. Decidedly the highest caution was essential, but he must work quickly, for there was no time to be lost. Marchmont therefore proceeded to pump the first member of the company he came across. This happened to be Spotts, who was in rather a bad humour, the result of a morning spent with the Bishop in the cobwebby heights of a neighbouring church-tower.
"You're the very person I wanted to see," cried the reporter.
"I'm afraid I've hardly time to be interviewed just now," replied the actor shortly.
"Oh, this isn't professional. I'm off duty sometimes. I'm only human."
"Oh, are you? I supposed newspaper men were neither the one nor the other."
"Well, I wanted to talk to you for your own good."
"Of course I know who you really are," pursued the journalist, ignoring the interruption. "And I may say confidentially that you and Miss Arminster are not the people of this party I'm after."
"So, if I could help you two to slip off quietly--"
"Why include Miss Arminster?" queried Spotts with well-affected surprise.
"Why? My dear fellow, you don't suppose I'm quite blind. Any one who follows that lady about with his eyes as you do is naturally-- Well--you understand--"
"I'm afraid your professional acumen is at fault this time," said the actor, and added: "I hope I may never come any nearer being married than I am now."
"Oh, I say," returned Marchmont; "don't you aspire to be her--sixteenth, is it?"
"You're alluding to Miss Arminster's husbands?" asked Spotts drily.