"None."
"Any other door to the place?"
"There may be a dozen, sahib. That is an old house, and it backs up against six others."
"What we suffer from in this country is information," said Warrington, beginning to hum to himself.
But Kirby signed to the trooper, and the man began to scramble out of the cart.
"Between now and our return, report to the club if anything happens," called Warrington.
The whip swished, the horse shot forward, and they were off again as if they would catch up with the hurrying seconds. People scattered to the right and left in front of them; a constable at a street crossing blew his whistle frantically; once the horse slipped in a deep puddle, and all but came to earth; but they reached the club without mishap and drove up the winding drive at a speed more in keeping with convention.
"Oh, hallo, Kirby! Glad you've come!" said a voice.
"Evening, sir!"
Kirby descended, almost into the arms of a general in evening dress. They walked into the club together, leaving the adjutant wondering what to do. He decided to follow them at a decent distance, still humming and looking happy enough for six men.