“You didn’t see the person, then?” I asked.
“No, but I know he was in evening dress, because I felt my head against his shirt-front.”
“Then,” said I, “he is either here still or he has been to the cloak-room. He couldn’t have left the place without an overcoat.”
“No, by Jove!” exclaimed the major; “that’s true. I’ll go and make inquiries.” He strode away all agog, and I, having satisfied myself that Mrs. Chater could be left safely, followed him almost immediately.
I made my way straight to the cloak-room, and here I found the major and one or two of his brother officers putting on their coats in a flutter of gleeful excitement.
“He’s gone,” said Podbury, struggling frantically into his overcoat; “went off nearly an hour ago on a bicycle. Seemed in a deuce of a stew, the attendant says, and no wonder. We’re goin’ after him in our car. Care to join the hunt?”
“No, thanks. I must stay with the patient. But how do you know you’re after the right man?”
“Isn’t any other. Only one Johnnie’s left. Besides—here, confound it! you’ve given me the wrong coat!” He tore off the garment and handed it back to the attendant, who regarded it with an expression of dismay.
“Are you sure, sir?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” said the major. “Come, hurry up, my man.”