"Of course not, because you can't see the front of the house. But I feel certain that this is the place."
"We want more proof than that," said Peter. "We must go in and find the walnut tree."
"We can't all wander into another man's grounds looking for walnut trees," I said, "with no better excuse than that Celia's great-grandmother was once asked down here for the week-end and stayed for a fortnight. We——"
"My grandfather," said Celia coldly, "lived here."
"Well, whatever it was," I said, "we must invent a proper reason. Peter, you might pretend you've come to inspect the gas-meter or the milk or something. Or perhaps Celia had better disguise herself as a Suffragette and say that she's come to borrow a box of matches. Anyhow, one of us must get to the front of the house to search for this walnut tree."
"It—it seems rather cheek," said Celia doubtfully.
"We'll toss up who goes."
We tossed, and of course I lost. I went up the drive nervously. At the first turn I decided to be an insurance inspector, at the next a scout-master, but, as I approached the front door, I thought of a very simple excuse. I rang the bell under the eyes of several people at lunch and looked about eagerly for the walnut tree.
There was none.
"Does Mr.—er—Erasmus—er—Percival live here?" I asked the footman.