The Salt Of The Earth by Fred M. White

Burton returned to the great hall with a self-satisfied air. He had not dropped the hint to Denne for nothing. It was part of the scheme he had in his mind. He found Felix Marner in the hall expatiating to the Americans. It was doubtful whether they understood half of what he said, but they followed him with none the less interest because he had as high a reputation in the United States as he had in Europe. It would be the correct thing to say they had met him. Moreover, every genuine American is fond of a lecture. For a moment there was suspicion of a sneer on Burton's face as he paused to listen. The hall was large, and he caught only the faint murmur of Marner's voice. In a distant corner a trio of vacuous looking youths were discussing tomorrow's racing programme. They had a litter of sporting papers and guides before them, and weighed up the chance of this or that horse with an earnestness which spoke volumes for their folly.

Callader was nowhere to be seen; probably he was in the billiard room playing with some of his guests. Burton could hear the click of the balls and the shrill sound of laughter. In one of the small drawing-rooms the lights were low, and a dozen persons were bending with concentrated interest over the bridge tables.