Trenter was laying out his master’s clothes for dinner when Gordon strolled into his dressing-room.
“Um ... don’t go, Trenter. When did you have your holiday?”
“First week in April, sir.”
Gordon considered.
“Do you know Scotland?”
“Yes, sir; I’ve been with several house parties for the September shooting.”
“Good. The fact is, Trenter, I’m going away on a—a peculiar mission. It is a secret even from my most intimate friends. There are reasons, very excellent reasons with which I need not trouble you, and which you certainly would not understand, why I should go secretly to one place whilst I am supposed to be at another.”
Trenter aimed wildly, but scored on the target at the first shot.
“A lady, sir?” he ventured respectfully, meaning no harm—offering, in fact, a tribute to the known chivalry of the Selsburys.
“No!”