"Mrs. Charters is getting you two some grub," volunteered H.M., like an urchin from the back of a classroom. "I expect you need it. Burn me, you've been leaving things behind in a way that's scandalous. All anybody's got to do to follow your trail across England is just to walk behind and pick up the pieces, like a paper-chase. First you leave a car, and a coat, and a burglar's kit. Then you leave a sackful of money and a book of sermons. Then-"
"Is that the best you can think of to throw in our teeth?" I said coldly. "One thing ought to be settled right here and now. When you sent me out on two frantic wild-goose chases to-night, first to Hogenauer's and then to Keppel's, did you have any idea of what I was likely to find? `You've got to pose as Robert T. Butler.' `That's our second line of defence.' Was that all eyewash? And if so, why?"
"Well… now," said H.M. He put the skull down in his lap. He spread out his stubby fingers and examined them disconsolately. "I've still got to ask you to trust the old man a little farther. I can't tell you — yet. But if it'll ease your soul any, I can tell you that at the moment I sent you out in that Butler — burglar role I was perfectly serious. Oh, yes, as serious as I ever been in my life."
"Then" said Evelyn.
"Now, now. I want the whole story, with every furbelow and trimmin'," Interposed H.M. inexorably. "Telephones are no good. Hop to it, you two. Talk."
Sitting back at our ease, Evelyn and I contrived to spin the story between us. There was no comment. Throughout it H.M.'s face remained as impassive as that of the skull he was turning over in his fingers. Though he had heard the gist of it in my call from Bristol, some of the details were so new that Charters several times tried to interrupt; but H.M. remained staring fishily, and sometimes he twiddled his thumbs. Only at mention of the telephone-message from 'L.' did he show any sign of animation.
"Uh-huh, he growled softly. "Now that's interestin'. That's very interestin'. Especially as-" He reached out one foot and prodded the phone on Antrim's desk. "I say, Charters: if this feller rang up, where did he ring up from? You and I have been sittin' here all night, and nobody used this phone. Is there another one in the house?"
Charters's curt gesture dimissed this as of little importance.
"Yes. Two, I think. There's one out in the hall, under the stairs. And I believe there's an extension up in Antrim's bedroom, in case someone rings him up in the night-'
"I know. Who'd be a country G.P.?"