George hastened to reassure him.
"That is exactly it. What's the answer?"
"I'll tell yer wot you can do. There's the big ball tonight 'cos of its bein' 'Is Nibs' comin'-of-age tomorrow. All the county'll be 'ere."
"You think I could slip in and be taken for a guest?"
Albert snorted contempt.
"No, I don't think nothin' of the kind, not bein' a fat-head." George apologized. "But wot you could do's this. I 'eard Keggs torkin to the 'ouse-keeper about 'avin' to get in a lot of temp'y waiters to 'elp out for the night—"
George reached forward and patted Albert on the head.
"Don't mess my 'air, now," warned that youth coldly.
"Albert, you're one of the great thinkers of the age. I could get into the castle as a waiter, and you could tell Lady Maud I was there, and we could arrange a meeting. Machiavelli couldn't have thought of anything smoother."
"Mac Who?"