“Oh, while you were taking particular stock of the chick, I happened to overhear tags of the old birds’ conversation,” said Fordham, acidly, as if the subject bored him.
“Well, and why didn’t you tell a fellow?”
“Why didn’t I? Hang it all, it’s bad form to repeat what you hear by accident, you know. Besides, it was rather sport to watch your face under the pleasant little surprise.”
“Oh, that be hanged for a yarn?” cried Philip, impatiently. “But I say, who are they, I wonder? What’s their name?”
“Don’t know. Easily found out though.”
“But how?”
“Why, go and look at the arrival book in the bureau. I’ll wait for you here. I’m not interested in the matter.”
Away went Philip without a word. Turning the pages of the book, the last entry of all, freshly made, read:
“Major-General and Mrs Wyatt.”
“Miss Wyatt.”