"Where is Boosey, by the way?" he said, leaning across to me.
I accepted the inauspicious omen of the gentleman's name as my only clue.
"Probably drunk by this time," I replied with an indifferent shrug.
He stared hard at me for a moment and then nodded once or twice, almost sympathetically it seemed.
"You are prepared to go on without him?" he asked.
"Up to a certain point," I replied guardedly.
"Then I know your line as well as you do yourself," he announced triumphantly.
"That's extremely likely," I admitted, and we relapsed into silence again.
At the distance of about two miles from the station the car turned off from the road, passing through a pair of fine old wrought-iron gates into private grounds of some pretensions. Another minute brought us to the house, a substantial white mansion, to my eyes about a couple of centuries old. Here everything was in readiness for the occasion, whatever it might be, and without any explanation or introduction we all crossed the hall and entered a spacious room which proved to be the library.
I had recognised the unlikelihood of being able to keep up the deception very long, but the moment I passed inside the room I saw exposure lurking ahead in every word. The extent of my ambition was to effect a dignified capitulation; to be allowed to pass out—or, better still, to stay in—with the honours of war. Seated about the room were nearly a score of people, and from their manner and attitude I at once understood that they were assembled for some specific purpose and had been awaiting our arrival. For the most part they were men of mature age, but among them were two or three ladies
