He was looking at me keenly—a half-puzzled, half-humorous expression on his handsome, cynical face. Then quite suddenly he held out his hand.
"Even a Cabinet Minister, Mr. Northcote," he said, "occasionally keeps his word."
I laughed, and we exchanged a grip.
"Lord Lammersfield," I said, "I asked you to come here so that I might tell you the truth." Then I paused and looked him straight in the face. "I am not Stuart Northcote," I added slowly. "That interesting gentleman is dead. It is apparently the only point on which the police are correctly informed."
Lord Lammersfield's expression remained unaltered. "Scotland Yard is making distinct progress," he observed. Then, placing his hat on the table, he pulled up a chair and seated himself.
For a moment I hesitated.
"I think it will be quickest," I said, "if I tell you my story straight through. I can at least promise you that you won't be bored."
His lordship bowed courteously. "I am never bored," he answered, "except by politics."
It is a little characteristic of mine to be able to talk better when I am on my feet. So while Lammersfield sat on in his chair, motionless and without betraying any sign of surprise, I paced up and down the room and let him have the whole amazing narrative of my adventures since the moment when I had met with Northcote on the Embankment. I cut out one or two private matters, dealing with Mercia and Lady Baradell; but with these exceptions I told him the entire story, in as brief and as straightforward a fashion as possible.
When I had quite finished, he sat up and looked at me for a moment without speaking. Then he laughed quietly, and taking off his glasses, polished them carefully with his handkerchief.