I took a taxi along to the hotel and found him alone in his private sitting-room. Together we took dry martinis, and while I smoked one of his exquisite Turkish cigarettes I explained the reason for my sudden visit to Lincolnshire.
“Well,” he laughed. “It all means costs to you, I suppose. And after all I believe you have a dining car to Peterborough, so the journey is not a very difficult one.”
“No. But I wanted to keep my appointment with you tonight,” I said.
The cheery old fellow laughed, saying:—
“My dear Yelverton, don’t think of that where business is concerned. Come and dine another night—the night after tomorrow. Feng is coming. We’ll have dinner at the Ritz for a change, and go to a show afterwards. Any further news of your little bride?”
“None,” I replied.
“Heard nothing?” he asked, looking at me curiously, as though he held me in some suspicion I thought. Did he know of my visit to Saumur and my discovery concerning his factotum, Harold Ruthen?
“Nothing,” was my reply. His attitude was always curious whenever he made any reference to Thelma.
In reply to a further question as to when I should return, I told him that I must be back in London by four o’clock on the morrow as I had an important appointment regarding the transfer of some London property—a side of the business which Hensman usually looked after.
I smoked a second cigarette and rose. He gripped my hand warmly before I left and repeated his invitation.