"Rooke didn't. Said he wasn't a policeman to go scratching about other people's houses. I thought it rather decent of him."
"Well—it's possible they didn't know what to look for."
"Do you?" I parried.
"No," he confessed,—"not unless he keeps a tame ghost down there."
"In that case the Chelsea Arts Club would be right," I laughed; and we went on to speak of other things.
X
Then one morning I had a letter from Joan Merrow, which I give you without the alteration of a single word. If you yourself have a modern young Anthea who may command you anything and does not hesitate to do so I accept your sympathy in advance. The letter ran:—
"Dear Old Thing,
"Do be an angel and do one or two little things for me. I'd rather ask you than anybody else because you're the kindest person I know. If you're too busy of course you'll say so straight out, but what I want first of all is for you to get me the addresses of a few nice small houses or convenient flats."