"Very fortunate for him," said Wimsey.
"Yes. He's the same sort as grandfather. They liked each other. Still, grandfather was very decent about me. A beast, as the school-boy said, but a just beast. And Sheila was a great favorite of his."
"Nobody could help liking her," said Wimsey, politely.
Lunch ended on a more cheerful note than it had begun. As they came out into the street, however, George Fentiman glanced round uneasily. A small man in a buttoned-up overcoat and with a soft hat pulled down over his eyes, was gazing into the window of a shop near at hand.
George strode up to him.
"Look here, you!" he said. "What the devil do you mean by following me about? You clear off, d'you hear?"
"I think you are mistaken, sir," said the man, quietly enough. "I have never seen you before."
"Haven't you, by jove? Well, I've seen you hanging about, and if you do it any more, I'll give you something to remember me by. D'you hear?"
"Hullo!" said Wimsey, who had stopped to speak to the commissionaire, "what's up?—Here, you, wait a moment!"
But at sight of Wimsey, the man had slipped like an eel among the roaring Strand traffic, and was lost to view.