He paused. For across the lobby toward them walked Henry Trimmer, and his walk was that of a man who is going somewhere.
"Ah—Mister Harrowby," he boomed, "and Mr. Minot I've been looking for you both. It will interest you to know that I had a wireless message from Lord Harrowby this noon."
"A wireless?" cried Minot.
"Yes." Trimmer laughed. "Not such a fool as you think him, Lord Harrowby isn't. Managed to send me a wireless from Tarragona despite the attentions of your friends. So I went out there this afternoon and brought George back with me."
Silently Minot and Harrowby stared at each other.
"Yes," Mr. Trimmer went on, "George is back again—back under the direction of little me, a publicity man with no grass under the feet. I've come to give you gentlemen your choice. You either see Lord Harrowby to-morrow morning at ten o'clock and recognize his claims, or I'll have you both thrown into jail for kidnaping."
"To-morrow morning at ten," Harrowby repeated gloomily.
"That's what I said," replied Mr. Trimmer blithely. "How about it, little brother?"
"Minot—what would you advise?"
"See him," sighed Minot.