"Nothing," assented Colin. "I was going to suggest that if you can get away this evening I should take you both out to a theatre."
"No chance of that," replied Mark regretfully. "At least, not so far as I'm concerned. I might spare Miss Seymour if you'll do something for me on your way here."
"What is it?"
"I left an umbrella in a taxi last night, a very superior umbrella, with Mark Ashton engraved on the handle. If you're driving down you might look in at the Lost Property Office and see whether it's turned up."
"Right you are," said Colin. "I shall be along in about an hour."
He hung up the receiver, and, putting away the Professor's cigar in an inside pocket, donned his hat and coat and proceeded to leave the house.
A little way down the hill, in a side mews off Vicarage Gardens, he had discovered a new garage, to which he had recently transferred his patronage. The car was ready for him, and a few minutes later he was seated at the driving wheel, skilfully threading his way through the crowded traffic that renders High Street, Kensington, such a stimulating thoroughfare.
Big Ben was in the act of striking three as he arrived at Westminster Bridge. He pulled up outside the entrance to the Lost Property Office, and, pushing open the swing door, advanced to the counter, where a stalwart constable was thoughtfully scratching his head with the stump of a pencil.
Having listened in silence to Colin's inquiry, the man got down from his seat and disappeared into the back regions, returning almost immediately with the umbrella in his hand.
"You'll have to sign your name here," he announced, pushing forward an official-looking paper.