How much did Carthew know? Mr. Prohack was too proud to ask. Carthew was no longer an authority on women lunching with an equal; he was a servitor engaged and paid on the clear understanding that he should not speak until spoken to.
"Drive to Claridge's Hotel," said Mr. Prohack.
"Yes, sir."
At the entrance to the hotel the party was received by gigantic uniformed guards with all the respect due to an Eagle. Ignoring the guards, Mr. Prohack passed imperially within to the reception office.
"I want a bedroom, a sitting-room and a bath-room, please."
"A private suite, sir?"
"A private suite."
"What—er—kind, sir? We have—"
"The best," said Mr. Prohack, with finality. He signed his name and received a ticket.
"Please have my luggage taken out of the car, and tell my chauffeur I shall want him at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and that he should take the car to the hotel-garage, wherever it is, and sleep here. I will have some tea at once in my sitting-room."