Then the thought of time came into his mind. He supposed that it would be about ten minutes past six. The sitting had begun a little before six.
He glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece; but it was one of those bulgy-faced Empire gilt affairs that display everything except the hour. He still waited a moment, feeling all this to be very unusual and unconventional.
Why should he sit here like an invalid, and why should these three sit here and watch him so closely?
He shifted a little in his chair, feeling that an effort was due from him. The question of the time of day struck him as a suitably conventional remark with which to break the embarrassing silence.
“What is the time?” he said. “I am afraid I ought to be—”
“There is plenty of time,” said the grave voice across the table.
With a sudden movement Laurie was on his feet, peering at the clock, knowing that something was wrong somewhere. Then he turned to the company bewildered and suspicious.
“Why, it is nearly eight,” he cried.
Mr. Vincent smiled reassuringly.
“It is about that,” he said. “Please sit down again, Mr. Baxter.”
“But—but—” began Laurie.
“Please sit down again, Mr. Baxter,” repeated the voice, with a touch of imperiousness that there was no resisting.
Laurie sat down again; but he was alert, suspicious, and intensely puzzled.