"I will now," it suddenly announced, "give my readers some idea of the political situation as it existed between the years 1870 and 1880; and of the close attention with which I followed it even then."
Seven
"Over here," said Frank Sharpless, pointing. "Put her down on the bed."
Whatever he had thought he might be doing at ten-thirty that night, Courtney had not imagined that he would be carrying the body of an unconscious woman upstairs in a strange house, while the police muttered below.
But he was.
When he and H.M. arrived at the square white house, whose unfortunate name, "The Nest," was woven into the ironwork of the gate, they saw that the front door stood open and a light burned in the hall.
Sharpless, bearing in his arms a limp figure in a violet full-sleeved and full-skirted gown, stood in the hall arguing with an inspector of police from the Gloucestershire County Constabulary.
"She can't run away," Sharpless was insisting. "At least let me take her upstairs and make her comfortable."
The inspector hesitated.
"Very well, sir. But come down again straightaway; you understand?" He turned to the newcomers. "You'll be Sir Henry Merrivale, no doubt?" At H.M.'s nod he saluted. "Inspector Agnew here. Colonel Race told me to look out for you. Will you come this way, sir?"