"Yes, Richard, let's have it."
He mumbled the name of a place I had never heard of and went on in the peculiarly expressionless style consecrated to messages, thus transmitted.
"Please bring bag of clothes and razors here will meet train arriving four thirty Tuesday bring sensible parson don't fail. Roger."
I stared at the receiver stupidly. This was Wednesday.
"That's crazy, Richard," I stammered finally, "bring what? Read it again."
"It's quite plain, sir, except the town," and again the strange message reached me.
"Well," I managed to get out, "it's clear he wants clothes, anyway. Tell Hodgson to pack a complete change for Mr. Bradley and his razors. And see if you can find the name of the place from the chief operator and the correct message. It can't be parson, of course. And look up the next train for that place, if you can, Richard. I'll be down there directly."
I puffed hard at my dying cigar and went slowly back to the veranda, trying to make sense of that telegram.
"No bad news, I hope?" my companion inquired kindly, for I suppose I looked worried.
"No," I said slowly, "only an idiotic sort of telegram from Roger. He wants me to meet him at some place or other at present unknown, and to bring him his razors and a sensible parson."