“Who said anything about a pleasure trip?” he demanded.
Peter turned his head.
“You did. You told me when you came on at Cherbourg that you had to go to New York to look after some property there, that things were very quiet in London, and that you hated traveling alone. Therefore, you sent for me at a few hours’ notice.”
“Is that what I told you?” Sogrange murmured.
“Yes! Wasn’t it true?” Peter asked, suddenly alert.
“Not a word of it,” Sogrange admitted. “It is quite amazing that you should have believed it for a moment.”
“I was a fool,” Peter confessed. “You see, I was tired and a little cross. Besides, somehow or other, I never associated a trip to America with—”
Sogrange interrupted him quietly, but ruthlessly.
“Lift up the label attached to the chair next to yours. Read it out to me.”
Peter took it into his hand and turned it over. A quick exclamation escaped him.