“See here,” said his host, suddenly, “are you Mr. Wellaway?”
For answer Mr. Wellaway dropped back on the lounge and covered his face with his hands.
“Now, I’ll never, never be able to make Mary believe I was here,” he said, and then he groaned miserably.
VII
“OH, I’m so sorry!” said Mr. Wellaway’s hostess in real distress. “We were absolutely unaware, Mr. Wellaway. We meant no harm. Roger did not know your name. But you can fix it all right. You can telephone Mrs. Wellaway that you are here. Telephone her immediately.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Wellaway. “I’ll do that. That’s what I must do,” and he went up the stairs to the telephone. He returned in ten minutes and found his host and hostess sitting opposite each other, staring at each other with sober faces. They looked at him eagerly as he entered. His face showed no relief.
“She says,” he said, “she says she don’t believe I’m here. She says I could telephone from anywhere, and say I was anywhere else. She says she just telephoned here, and knows I’m not here. And then she asked me where I was telephoning from, and—”
Mr. Wellaway broke down and hid his face in his hands.
“And I didn’t know where I was telephoning from!” he moaned. “I didn’t know the street or the house number, or—or the name!”
“You didn’t know the name!” cried Mr. Wellaway’s host. “You didn’t know my name was Murchison?”