“White’s,” decided the Viscount. “Won’t be anyone there at this hour. We must think this out.”
“I’m not a member, you know,” said Captain Heron.
“What’s that matter? Pom ain’t either. I am, though,” replied the Viscount, and led the way up the street.
They found the coffee-room in the club deserted, and took possession of it. The Viscount stretched himself in a chair, and thrust his hands into his breeches pockets.
“Say Lethbridge started from Maidenhead at ten,” he mused. “He’ll arrive about one. Maybe earlier. Drives fast horses.”
Sir Roland was inclined to cavil at this. “Wouldn’t start at ten, Pel. Too early.”
“What’s to keep him?” asked the Viscount. “Nothing to do in Maidenhead that I ever heard of.”
“There’s a bed, ain’t there? Do you ever get up before nine? Lay you odds he don’t either. Call it eleven.”
“Does it signify?” inquired Captain Heron, adjusting his sash.
“Signify? Of course it signifies!” replied the Viscount. “We’ve got to intercept the fellow. Does he take his luncheon on the road, Pom?”