Nevertheless, Copplestone's mind was not entirely absorbed by this
pleasant subject; the events of the day and of the arrival in London
kept presenting themselves. And coming across a fellow club-member
whom he knew for a thorough man about town, he suddenly plumped him
with a question.
"I say!" he said. "Do you know the Fragonard Club?"
"Of course!" replied the other man. "Don't you?"
"Never even heard of it till this evening," said Copplestone.
"What is it?"
"Mixed lot!" answered his companion. "Theatrical and music-hall folk--men
and women--both. Lively spot--sometimes. Like to have a look in when they
have one of their nights?"
"Very much," assented Copplestone. "Are you a member?"
"No, but I know several men who are members," said the other. "I'll fix
it all right. Worth going to when they've what they call a
house-dinner--Sunday night, of course."
"Thanks," said Copplestone. "I suppose membership of that's confined to
the profession, eh?"
"Strictly," replied his friend. "But they ain't at all particular about
their guests--you'll meet all sorts of people there, from judges to
jockeys, and millionairesses to milliners."
Copplestone was still wondering what the Squire of Scarhaven could have
to do with the Fragonard Club when he went to Mr. Petherton's office the
next morning. He was late for the appointment which Gilling had made, and
when he arrived Gilling had already reported all that had taken place the
day before to the solicitor and to Sir Cresswell Oliver.
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