"It's better now, pet," he said; "a walk will just put me right."
He took the blue letter into the hall and opened it. It was as he suspected. Parrott had evidently had the third warning that morning, and not the second.
Outside George found the patient figure of Mole taking careful observation. He appeared not to notice him, but turned away in the direction of Hyde Park. The cool air revived him, and he sat listening to the band for half an hour. Finding in its music no solution to the problems confronting him, he turned out of the gate and strolled along Piccadilly.
"It was in this neighbourhood that I did the heroic act and let myself in for this," thought George. "I only wish I could find a way out of it here."
Food was necessary to keep up his strength, so he entered the Café Royal and ordered a sumptuous dinner. The indefatigable sleuth-hound did likewise at a respectful distance.
"Now," thought George, as he emerged with the satisfied feeling that only a good dinner can give, "now I must try to think it out. I had luck in this spot before—if you can call it luck. Perhaps I'll get the same again."
But the goddess of fortune failed to appear, nor did George succeed in meeting her during his subsequent two hours' stroll. All his own ideas went down before the ingenious complications conceived by the late head of the Fairbrother firm.
He sighed deeply as he stood on the doorstep at Brunswick Terrace searching for his latch-key. The sigh was succeeded by a smile. Before inserting the key in the lock George turned and looked thoughtfully at a ghostly figure on the other side of the road.
"Well," he said with a valiant attempt at hilarity, "I'll try being good for a time, and see how that works."
