“And so have you, Freda,” laughed her companion, as he stretched himself upon the sofa. “But the little reverse I had in the early hours of this morning was—well, I admit it—rather disturbing. The fact is that on leaving the house in Richmond a constable collared me. He became nasty, so I was nastier still, and gave him a Number Two right up his nose. And you know what that means!”
“Yes,” said the woman. “He won’t speak much for eight hours or so. I expect he saw the red light, eh?”
“No doubt. But I’ve got the little map here, and Barclay retains a sheet of blank paper.”
“Splendid!”
Then he drew it from his pocket and showed it to her.
“Oh! won’t Gordon be delighted to get this!” she cried. “It will gladden his heart. The dear boy is a bit down, and wants bucking up.”
“Where’s Jimmie?” asked Allen. “Tell him to get me a drink. I suppose he’s back by this time?”
The handsome woman in the lemon-coloured gown rose and rang the bell, and old Claribut, servile and dignified, entered.
“Hulloa! Dick!” he exclaimed. “Why, where have you sprung from? I thought you were in Nice!”
“So I was. But I’m in Welwyn now, and I want one of your very best cocktails—and one for Freda also.”