His fierce words of determination were interrupted by a ring at the front door bell, and he went along the small hall to open it.
Jim Jannaway, in a light overcoat and crush hat, stood upon the mat.
“By Jove, Charlie!” he cried, “I’m jolly glad you’re at home, old chap!”
“Why?” asked Mullet admitting him, and closing the door.
“Well, my dear fellow,” he said in a breathless voice. “Something ugly has happened. You’ve been given away. Somebody has recognised that you’re back in London!”
“Who?” gasped the red-haired man.
“Ah! that we don’t know yet. The ‘boss’ has just sent me round to tell you to clear out at once—this instant!”
“H’m,” remarked “Red Mullet.” “Now that’s deuced funny! Why didn’t he keep his fears to himself, and let me take the consequences—eh?”
“Why, of course he wouldn’t do that. He never lets us down—you surely know him too well for that,” remarked the other.
“And he gives me the tip to clear out!” said Charlie Mullet. “It’s really very kind and considerate of him.”