Billy smiled wickedly. "We've made great friends," he said. "I'm going down on the marsh with him this afternoon to help hunt out the criminals. He says it's a dangerous job."
"It will be a pretty thirsty one," I returned, "if you stick to it long enough. I'm afraid you've been stuffing the poor man up shamelessly, Billy."
"He didn't want it," chuckled Billy, thrusting his arm through mine. "I do, though. Come inside and have some grub. The chase starts at half-past two."
We entered the long dining-room, where an elderly waiter brought us an excellent lunch of cold partridge and Stilton cheese, which we assisted in its progress with a couple of bottles of Jacob's Pilsener. As Billy said, "You can't hunt murderers on air," a remark which I considered applied with equal force to the nice conduct of a somewhat complicated love scene.
"Besides, that's not all my day's work," he added. "When I get back, I'm going to pay another call at the Hollies. There's a drain pipe under that window which looks as if it would bear my weight all right."
"Look here, Billy," I protested, "it's my show and you're doing all the dangerous part of it."
"That's a matter of opinion," he laughed. "Anyhow, I'm quite satisfied. If you'll tackle Miss Mercia Solano, I'll take on Humpty Dumpty and the others with the greatest pleasure."
He got up, glancing at his watch. "I must be off," he added. "I promised to call for Sherlock at a quarter-past, and one mustn't keep the Law waiting. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. What time does the cricket match start?"
"Oh, Goodness knows," said I: "about eleven, I suppose."
"Well, I'll be around some time in the morning. So long, old son, and don't forget that all women are born liars."