“I suppose it’s the old man you’re after, this time?” he hazarded.
“Guessed right the first time, old chap. I want to have a few minutes’ conversation with his lordship. That’s why I wrote asking you if you knew anything of his movements.”
“By gad! you are a deep ’un,” cried Willet admiringly.
“Thanks,” said Johnson easily, but it was plain to see the compliment had not fallen on deaf ears. “Well, now, you say he’s back in town. If I knock at the door in the course of half-an-hour or so, do you think I’m likely to find him in?”
“It’s a pretty safe find. He hardly ever goes out when in London, drives down to the Carlton once or twice a week, and stays a couple of hours. But anyway. I’m pretty sure you’ll find him in to-day, and I’ll tell you for why.”
“Yes?” interrupted Johnson eagerly. Willet was certainly invaluable in the way of giving information.
“Her ladyship is giving a big party this afternoon—I think it’s a philanthropic sort of hustle, in aid of some charity. On these occasions he usually shuts himself up in his own den till the last carriage has driven away. Then he comes out growling and cursing because his house has been turned upside down, and everybody gives him as wide a berth as possible.”
“He seems an amiable sort of person,” observed Johnson.
“Touched, my dear boy, touched,” replied Willet, tapping his somewhat retreating forehead. “And getting worse, so I’m told. Triggs, his valet, told me yesterday it can’t be long before they’ll have to put him under restraint.”
“You’ve no idea where he’s been the last few weeks, I suppose,” was Johnson’s next question.