It was Derry who answered, advancing across the court towards me.
"Ah, there you are. I've been looking for you. I wanted to thank you and say good-bye. I'm afraid I've got to be pushing along."
I acted my part as well as I could. "Pushing along! What are you talking about? What train are you going by? This is Sunday. Come along in to breakfast."
"Oh, I'd a cup of tea and a biscuit in my room, thanks," he said hesitatingly. "I know it's springing it on you rather suddenly, George, but I really must be getting along."
"What's all this about? Your book?" I demanded.
"Yes, the book. Yes, the book, George."
"But I tell you it's Sunday. There the twelve-forty-six and the four-fifty. You've missed the eight-fifty-five."
"I thought of walking," he said.
"All the way to London? That would take you two days. So it isn't your book after all."
"Oh, I meant part of the way," he evaded, fidgeting. "Guildford or Weybridge or somewhere."