"But hang it all," Lord Almont shouted, "be a bit more explicit."
Cranbourne turned.
"Have you missed it," he said. "Then here's something to think about.
Suppose Van Diest kidnaps the wrong man." The door slammed behind him.
Mr. Torrington laid a card on the table with careful deliberation. He was smiling.
"Great fun," he murmured to himself.
CHAPTER 4.
SITTING ON THE FLOOR.
When Anthony Barraclough left the Mansions he walked up Park Lane and turned into Green Street. Before a house with a white front door he stopped and attacked the knocker. He was admitted by a parlourmaid and informed that Miss Irish was in the boudoir. This was good news because it meant sitting on the floor and lovers all the world over are at their happiest when they sit on the floor. There is something soothing and familiar about it. A man loves to sprawl and a woman is always at her best curled up among cushions. It is impossible to be disagreeable when you are sitting on the floor. You couldn't conceivably have a row in that position. Perhaps a little sulking might be done but very little and only of the kind that provokes pleasant makings-up. Altogether it is a jolly fine institution and the world would be a better place if there was more of it.
In the opinion of Anthony Barraclough no one sat on the floor so divinely as Isabel, and to tell the truth he rather fancied himself as her floor partner.
"Don't you bother," he said to the maid. "I'll make my own way up."