It was late when he reached the Albany. Tozer was sitting up, reading a book on counterpoint.
"Well, what luck?" asked Tozer, pleased at the other's gravity and sobriety.
"I've found a plot," said Bobby; "at least, the middle of one, but it's tipsy."
"Tipsy?"
"It's my—Tozer, this is a dead secret between you and me—it's my Relative."
"Your uncle?"
"Yes."
"What on earth do you mean?"
Bobby explained.
Tozer made some tea over a spirit lamp as he listened, then he handed the other a cup.