“There’s nothing wrong. Mayn’t anyone leave Marden but you, you young autocrat?”
Nevil deposited his lanky self in a comfortable chair and smiled in his slow way. Then he looked round the room with a critical, disapproving eye.
“Is Peter at home?” he asked, “and do you think he could put me up for a night? I suppose I ought to see him.”
Christopher did not offer to move.
“You shan’t see him till you tell me what brings you here, Nevil,” he said firmly.
The other shook his head. “That’s a bad argument, Christopher. However, I’ll pretend it’s effectual. There’s a man at Leamington who has some records he considers priceless, but which I think are frauds. I thought if I came up to-day I could travel down with you to-morrow.”
It sounded plausible—too plausible when Christopher considered the difficulty it was to rouse Nevil even to go to London. There might be a man in Leamington, but he didn’t believe Nevil had come to see him.
“You are growing very energetic, Nevil,” he said slowly, “all this trouble over some fraudulent records.”
“They might be genuine, and really important,” Nevil suggested cautiously. 251
“At all events I was not returning till Saturday, and Mr. Masters wants me to stay till Monday now, and go to London with him then.”