“It is a new one, used only for these midnight adventures of the Head-Hunter. He probably garages it away from his house. You asked me if I’d have something to eat just now, and I lied and told you I was living on the fat of the land. Give me some food, for the love of heaven!”
Jack went into the larder and brought out some cold meat, brewed a pot of coffee, and sat in silence, watching the famished detective dispose of the viands.
“I feel a man now,” said Michael as he finished, “for I’d had nothing to eat except a biscuit since eleven this morning. By the way, our friend Stella Mendoza is staying at Griff Towers, and I’m afraid I rather scared her. I happened to be nosing round there an hour ago, to make absolutely sure of my bird, and I looked in upon her—to her alarm!”
There came a sharp rap at the door, and Jack Knebworth looked up.
“Who’s that at this time of night?” he asked.
“Probably the policeman,” said Michael.
Knebworth opened the door and found a short, stout, middle-aged woman standing on the doorstep with a roll of paper in her hand.
“Is this Mr. Knebworth’s?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Jack.
“I’ve brought the play that Miss Leamington left behind. She asked me to bring it to you.”