You will never guess (i.1)
"My friend, you will never guess who I met yesterday," Robert began, barely crossing the threshold. He immediately handed the servant his top hat and cane, hastily pulled off his gloves, and tossed them on the table, right among the piles of unread correspondence.
"Come on, Archie, come on! Think!"
Archie had not expected to see him at such an early hour. Robert usually came for dinner, but certainly not for breakfast. His day had only just begun; he had not even finished his tea or read a few columns of The Times. And yet, he was glad Robert had decided to visit.
"In the past month, you have dined with dukes, members of Parliament, scientists, and actresses. With your vast circle of acquaintances… honestly, Robert, I have no idea."
"It is much simpler. You know him. I would say you know him too well. You are enemies."
"I have no enemies," Archie replied, walking into the living room. A cold breakfast awaited him on the rosewood table.
"Would you like anything?"
"No, thank you, I am full."
"That is not like you at all."
Robert sat down opposite him and, clasping his fingers, raised his hands to his chin.
"Any guess?" he asked again, smiling slyly.
"None."
"Theodore Baines."
"Good heavens!" Archie jumped up from the table and began pacing the living room. After several minutes of tense silence, broken only by heavy sighs, he stopped in front of the window and shook his head.
"You have ruined my appetite."
"Oh, my friend, I knew this news would impress you!" Robert responded with a laugh, pouring himself some tea.
"It was like this. Yesterday, around nine o'clock, I was on my way to the opera—or was I already returning? I walked out to the Strand and saw a familiar face. You remember his round, shiny face, don't you? It had gotten even rounder, and the poor fellow was almost bald. He recognized me, too, and we strolled to the National Gallery, chatting quite pleasantly. He had just returned from Edinburgh."
"That is where he belongs. Why did he come back?"
"I don't know, Archie, I don't know. I was afraid to disturb his little idyll called "return to his beloved London" with my questions. Had I really made a mistake?"
"You have made an unthinkable mistake, Robert," Archie said, returning to the table.
"Well, forgive me! I was too busy telling him about myself. I completely forgot! Baines said he was dining with the Morrisons tonight. You dine there on Tuesdays, right?"
"Yes, but it's not Tuesday."
"I noticed a letter in the hall. From Mrs. Morrison. What do you think it is?"
Archie called a servant and asked for the recent letters. One letter was indeed from Mrs. Morrison. In it, she kindly urged Archie to dine that evening and hinted that the soirée promised to be educational.
"And not a word about Baines!" Robert remarked, reading the letter over his friend's shoulder. He began pacing the room, examining the figurines on the shelves as if seeing them for the first time.
"This is all very foolish, Robert. I'm not sure she knows about my disdain for Baines, but she must have guessed that we share some history. Oh, what am I talking about? A woman like Mrs. Morrison certainly knows everything. She has always had only two pleasures in life: talking about scandals and participating in them. With age, the latter has become less common, but I give her some hope. And if she wants a scandal, I have no right to refuse her."