There followed a very curious scene.
The entry was somewhat dark. It was only lit from the hall beyond. Mr. Kirby, looking at his friend as that friend turned round from noting his loss, was astonished to see his face white—so white that it seemed too clearly visible in the dark corner, and it was filled with a mixture of sudden fear and sudden anger. From that face came a low cry rather than a phrase—
"It's gone, Charles!"
The louty servant started. Luckily none of the guests heard. Mr. Kirby moved up quickly and put his hand on Brassington's arm.
"Now, do manage yourself, John," he said. "What 's gone?"
"My Green Overcoat!" gasped Mr. Brassington in the same low tone passionately.
"Well?"
"Well! You say 'well'—you don't understand!"
"Yes, I do, John," said Mr. Kirby, with a sort of tenderness in his voice. "I understand perfectly. Come back here with me. Be sensible."
"I won't stir!" said Mr. Brassington irresolutely.
