The claret got the better of his tongue, at last. He mumbled and
muttered; he sank back in his chair; he chuckled; he hiccupped; he fell
asleep.
All and more than all that Mountjoy feared, he had now discovered. In a
state of sobriety, the doctor was probably one of those men who are
always ready to lie. In a state of intoxication the utterances of his
drunken delirium might unconsciously betray the truth. The reason which
he had given for Lord Harry's continued absence in Ireland, could not
be wisely rejected as unworthy of belief. It was in the reckless nature
of the wild lord to put his own life in peril, in the hope of revenging
Arthur Mountjoy on the wretch who had killed him. Taking this bad news
for granted, was there any need to distress Iris by communicating the
motive which detained Lord Harry in his own country? Surely not!
And, again, was there any immediate advantage to be gained by revealing
the true character of Mrs. Vimpany, as a spy, and, worse still, a spy
who was paid? In her present state of feeling, Iris would, in all
probability, refuse to believe it.
Arriving at these conclusions, Hugh looked at the doctor snoring and
choking in an easy-chair. He had not wasted the time and patience
devoted to the stratagem which had now successfully reached its end.
After what he had just heard--thanks to the claret--he could not
hesitate to accomplish the speedy removal of Iris from Mr. Vimpany's
house; using her father's telegram as the only means of persuasion on
which it was possible to rely. Mountjoy left the inn without ceremony,
and hurried away to Iris in the hope of inducing her to return to
London with him that night.