"I telephoned to Chalons, my lord," he said.
Lord Ellerdine jumped up as if he had suddenly sat down upon a pin.
"What?" he said.
"The railway people are sure they put your dispatch-box on the 2.43 with you and Lady Attwill."
Lord Ellerdine's face became the colour of brick. If his mouth had been larger it would have foamed at the corners. "Get out!" he spluttered.
The little man started back a step, his arms shot out in amazement, his face a mere mask of one.
"My lord!" he said.
"Get out!"
The poor fellow realised that there was obviously something very wrong. It was a situation he could only deal with in one way, and that was by being thoroughly polite.
"Yes, my lord," he said, in a voice from which he vainly tried to eliminate the amazement he felt.