And this promise, as will be seen, I carried out to the very last letter.
A rapping on my bedroom door fetched me out of my beauty sleep. I started up in bed and switched on the electric light.
"That you, Jimmy?" I called. "Come in, you ass, and say what you want. If it's the corkscrew—"
"If you please, Sir Roderick—sorry to disturb you—" said a voice outside which I recognised as the night-porter's.
"Smithers?" I called. "What's wrong?… Open the door, man.… Is the place on fire?"
The door opened and showed me Smithers with a tall policeman looming behind him.
"Hallo!" said I, sitting up straighter and rubbing my eyes.
"Constable, sir," explained Smithers, "with a message for you. Says he must see you personally."
The constable spoke while I stared at him, my eyes blinking under the bed-light. "It's a dream," I was telling myself. "Silly kind of dream—"
"Gentleman in the Ensor Street Police Court, sir. Requires bail till to-morrow—till ten-thirty this morning, I should have said. Gave your name for surety." The constable announced this in a firm bass voice, respectful but business-like. "Said he was a friend of yours."