He was interrupted by exclamations from all three men.
"What the hell do you mean?" demanded he who had spoken, a dark, ill-favoured fellow with a brow like a rainy sky.
"I will tell you," said Malcolm Sage. "Last night Mr. Goldschmidt, accompanied by certain friends, went to Burns's training-quarters to keep an appointment made in the name of a girl friend of Burns. He came out quite unsuspectingly, was overpowered, and subsequently taken in Mr. Goldschmidt's car to a place with which I am unacquainted, so that he shall not appear at the Olympia to-morrow night."
He drew his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. His air was that of a chess player who knows that he can mate his opponent in two moves.
"It's a damned lie!" roared one of the men, whilst Goldschmidt shrieked something that was unintelligible.
"You drove out by way of Putney Hill, Esher, and Clandon Cross Roads.
You backed the car to within two hundred yards of 'The Grove,' where
you all got out with the exception of the driver. You then entered
'The Grove,' taking cover behind a large clump of rhododendrons."
"It's a damned lie," choked Goldschmidt.
"By the way," continued Malcolm Sage, "your fair friend drove out in the tonneau; but returned seated beside the driver, and one of you was nearly left behind and entered the car after it had started."
The men looked at one another in bewilderment.
"You, Goldschmidt, carried an umbrella," continued Malcolm Sage, "and took cover behind the holly bush; but you came out a little too soon, hence that nose. Burns was playing possum. You were rather anxious for a smoke too. I am a smoker myself."