"Business satisfactorily arranged. Meet me Pen Mill four o'clock."
By the time I had handed this in it was already a few minutes past one, and, feeling that whatever else I had accomplished I had certainly earned a good lunch, I turned into the Cock Tavern, which was only half a dozen yards away.
Here I feasted sumptuously on roast saddle of mutton and a bottle of Burgundy—an excellent wine for anyone who is suffering from the after-effects of two hours' continuous oratory. There being no occasion for hurry, I dawdled away another pleasant half hour over a cigar, and then at a leisurely pace I walked back through the City to Liverpool Street. At five and twenty to three I was watching the panorama of East London slip by the carriage window, with Fortnum and Mason's hamper reposing safely in the opposite rack.
On reaching Torrington station I was fortunate enough to secure the same ramshackle cab which had carried me to Pen Mill two days before. Packing myself and the hamper inside, I requested the driver to repeat the performance, and at a stumbling trot we once more jogged off through the wet and narrow lanes.
Bobby had evidently received my wire, for as we descended the hill I caught sight of him strolling in solitary state up and down the hard. He came forward to meet me, and opened the door of the cab when we drew up.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Where's the sleuth-hound?"
I stepped out, clasping the hamper in my arms.
"Don't worry," I said, "I've got him all right."
Bobby looked round blankly. "Well, where is he?" he demanded. "In the basket?"
"No," I explained. "That's a little addition to the larder. Campbell couldn't get away till the six o'clock train. He's coming straight through to Martlesea, and I've arranged for you to pick him up at the station."