“We’ll see about that,” said Tom. “Now, father, come along;” and the couple descended to the dining-room.
“Here, Robbins,” cried the young man, as the butler came to answer the bell, “what time is it?”
“Harpus four, my lord,” said the butler, who looked haggard and in want of a shave.
“Humph! Well, look here, we’ve gone on to Scotland Yard if that policeman returns.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And then—well, never mind about then. Here, go up and ask Miss Wilder to come and speak to me, and send Joseph for a cab. Not gone to bed, has he?”
“No, sir; they’re all having a cup o’ coffee in the kitchen, sir.”
“Trust ’em, just the time when they’d like a feed,” growled Tom. “There: Miss Wilder. Look sharp.”
Five minutes after Tom stood at the door holding Tryphie’s hand, while his father went slowly down to the cab.
“Good-bye, little one,” he said.