“Will you dine with me to-morrow at the Club?”
Rodwell hesitated; then, consulting his little pocket diary, replied—
“I’m awfully sorry, my dear fellow, but I am due to speak in Lincoln to-morrow night. Any other night I’ll be delighted.”
“Thursday next, then, at eight o’clock—eh?”
“Good. It’s an appointment,” and he scribbled it down.
Then Trustram strode out and, hailing a passing taxi, drove home to his quiet rooms off Eaton Square.
The moment he had gone Mrs Kirby, wearing a small, close-fitting hat and blue serge walking-gown, quickly joined Rodwell in the hall.
“I’ve learnt something of importance, Molly. I must get away down to old Small’s at once. Gott strafe England!” he added very seriously.
“Gott strafe England!” the woman repeated after him in fervent earnestness, as though it were a prayer. Then she asked in surprise, “Going to-night? It’s a long way. Why, you won’t get there before morning!”
“I must be there as soon as possible. Our submarines can get some troop-ships—if we are slick enough! Every moment’s delay is of the utmost importance,” he exclaimed hurriedly. “Ring up Penney, will you, and tell him to bring round the car at once. Then come into the dining-room and have a snack with me before I go. But to what do I owe a visit at this hour? Have you anything to report?”