In a couple of minutes Pierre came back. “The train for London passes Duxley station at four thirty-six,” he said.
“Good. You will just have time to catch it,” said Mr. St. George. “You will reach London in two hours and a quarter after you leave Duxley. Take a cab. Find out Boucher. Tell him to telegraph me first thing to-morrow morning, so that the message will reach me here not later than eight o’clock. His telegram must be to this effect: You are wanted in town immediately on most important business. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“An hour in London will be enough for you. You will be able to catch the eight o’clock down train, and ought to be back in this room by eleven at the latest. In fact, I shall expect to find you here when I return from Pincote.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t say a word to any one about your journey.”
Pierre bowed and left the room.
“Invaluable fellow, that,” said Kester aloud.
The excitement that had stirred his blood so strangely a few minutes before was still upon him. He was like a man who had screwed himself up to some desperate resolve which he was determined to go through with at every cost.
He began slowly and deliberately to dress himself for dinner.