me exactly
what has happened?"

"You shall have the details over dinner," he promised affably.
"For you've omitted the one observation that's relevant--your stomach
is crying aloud for a meal. The Cafe Royal is prescribed."

"Not until I've had a tub and dressed myself. The dust of
coal-brick--"

"That's all right, again. . . . I admonished Jephson. You'll find
the bath spread and your clothes laid out in your bedder, and in five
minutes or so Jephson will bring hot water in a lordly can. I, too,
will dress. . . . But meantime, here are the outlines:

"Farrell knocked in early this morning. He was agitated and he
perspired. He wished to see you at once. I pointed out that it was
impossible and, as they say in examinations, gave reasons for my
answer. Hearing it, he showed a disposition to shake at the knees
and cling to the furniture. When he went on to discover that I might
do in your place, and the furniture's place, and started clinging to
me--well, I struck. I pointed out that he was apparently sound in
wind and limb, inquired if he owed money, and having his assurance to
the contrary, suggested that he should pull himself together and copy
the Village Blacksmith.

"While we were arguing it, the Professor butted in. I'll do him the
justice to say he wasn't perspiring. But he, too, was in the devil
of a hurry to interview you. So I had to play band as before.

"The position was really rather funny. There, by the door, was the
Professor, asking questions hard, and seemingly unaware that Farrell
was anywhere in the room. Here was I, playing faithful Gelert
life-size, but pretty warily, covering Farrell--who, for aught I
knew, had gone to earth under the sofa. I couldn't hear him
breathing--and he's pretty stertorous, as a rule.

"I kept a pretty straight eye on the Professor, somehow, and told him
the facts--that you had sent the money ('Yes, I know,' said he: 'I
got it before leaving Biarritz'): that you had actually gone to that
health-resort in search of him. ('Good God!' said he. 'That's like
old Roddy'--or some words to that effect. You wouldn't let me repeat
'em, just now.) Then he started telling me about this letter he'd
posted at Biarritz, and that it should have arrived, by rights.
'Well, it hasn't,' said I, feeling pretty inhospitable for not asking
him to sit down and have a drink. . . . But, you see, I wasn't
certain he wouldn't sit down somewhere on top of Farrell. . . .
'Thin