Read New Celebrations: The Adventures of Anthony Villiers for Free Online Page B

should have more power here than a man of greater polish. Their dislike was mutual. Being the men they were, one day one might decide to kill the other. This time, however, Godwin simply nodded sharply and took his soiled suit away to be changed before it fell apart.
    After Godwin had gone, Shirabi puttered around his plants thoughtfully. Once he took off his left glove and scratched his ear. Finally, he went to the service in the corner. The signal showed contact when the call was completed, but Godwin left his end of the conversation dark. An inconvenient moment, perhaps.
    “Gentleman, I’ve been thinking and I’m starting to wonder about this Mr. Villiers of ours. If he didn’t challenge you, he isn’t the man I was taking him for. And I found him wandering down here this morning. Accidentally lost, he said.”
    “In the basements?”
    “Yes. He’s altogether too sharp for my taste. And he told me he was leaving tomorrow for Luvashe. That’s where he came from. Why would he just travel out here and then turn around? Makes it sound like he was coming here for something. I only know one thing that could be.”
    “That’s your problem, not mine,” Godwin said. “From now on, I’m just keeping track of the split and my own job.”
    “What good will the split or your job be if we’re caught with a basement full of thumbs, and pick-up a day away?”
    “It’s still your problem. You boor of a peasant! I should do you favors?”
    “Zvegintzov.”
    Godwin thought that over for a few moments, and then said, “All right. You said he was leaving for Luvashe tomorrow. If Villiers did suspect something, he wouldn’t be able to do much about it on his way to Luvashe, now would he?”
    “If he leaves tomorrow, he’s clear, and it was all an accident. I’ll stop worrying. But have him watched every minute. And search his baggage.”
    * * *
    The object of this speculation set out for dinner in the Grand Hall that evening. Just outside the plush purple entrance, he encountered Norman Adams. Adams was no longer in his sneaking clothes. He had apparently found his way home again and there changed into equally somber, but rather more socially acceptable apparel. This was just as well. It was unlikely that he could have entered the Grand Hall in his black skintights and not drawn rather more attention to himself than a gentleman of taste could like.
    “Hello, Mr. Adams,” Villiers said.
    “Servant, sir.”
    “Will you join me for dinner?”
    “I’m sorry, no. I dropped a royal last night, and the Grand Hall is rather above my touch now.” There was an attempt on Adams’ part to ape his usual buoyancy, but beneath it there was a tone of sullenness. It was much like a small boy who has been taught that good manners should mask unpleasant emotions, but who still wants you to know that his unpleasant emotions are being masked by good manners. The result, if the boy isn’t so small that his natural feelings overwhelm him (“Well, I tried to be nice.”), is a peculiar sort of well-bred sulkiness. It’s a tense and difficult effect to achieve properly, and mark it to Adams’ credit that he was successful.
    “Well, stand as my guest, then.”
    “No, sir. I think I’ve accepted too much hospitality from you already.”
    “But I insist.”
    “I have already eaten. If you will excuse me?” Adams turned and abruptly moved away.
    Villiers raised his eyebrows and looked after Adams, and then instead of lowering his eyebrows and turning in to dinner, he raised them even higher. Yes, it was definitely the sound of crying behind him.
    He turned and saw no one immediately, and then realized that it was in a purple alcove set in the purple wall that the tears were being shed. He investigated and found that it was the delightful young miss of his breakfast love affair. Her crying swelled in volume as he came into sight, at the same time the young lady apparently was redoubling her efforts to staunch the flow. There was an