“I—er—I——”
Bobbie took a hand.
“Now see here, my friend, you take my advice and drop this pretence,” he said gravely. “You will deceive nobody—though I can understand why you have not given up hope—and you may get yourself into very serious trouble. If I had my way, you would be in that position at this moment, but my cousin, for an excellent reason, has refrained from handing you over to the police. That generosity ought to be appreciated by you.”
Gordon set his teeth, cast broom and brush to the devil and leapt up.
“I don’t care—I will tell the truth,” he said doggedly. “In spite of everything—in spite of all appearances, I am Gordon Selsbury.”
He looked round: Superbus was at the door, a buff envelope in his hand. It was no use; he went down on his knees and groped for the dustpan. He was beaten.
“A wire for you, ma’am. I never knew they came on Sunday.”
She took the envelope and tore it open.
“Another! ‘Aberdeen. Very good journey and looking forward to my return. Gordon.’”
Bobbie gaped.