“A what?”
“Miss Bulstrode—Mr. Bulstrode’s sister. She’s waiting in the hall.”
“Never knew he had a sister,” said Jack Herring, rising.
“Wait a minute,” said Harry Bennett. “Shut that door. Don’t go.” This to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. “Lady in a heliotrope dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?”
“That’s right, Mr. Bennett,” agreed old Goslin.
“It’s the Babe himself!” asserted Harry Bennett.
The question of Hamlet’s madness was forgotten.
“Was in at Stinchcombe’s this morning,” explained Harry Bennett; “saw the clothes on the counter addressed to him. That’s the identical frock. This is just a ‘try on’—thinks he’s going to have a lark with us.”
The Autolycus Club looked round at itself.
“I can see verra promising possibilities in this, provided the thing is properly managed,” said the Wee Laddie, after a pause.