"By gum! That's right. It's Gatwick today. Dash! I might have saved you
a journey."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. In my business there is no call for hurry."

Elkin looked around.

"Where's our friend, the 'tec?" he said.

"I think you're wrong about 'im, meanin' Mr. Peters," said Tomlin. "'E's
'ere for a noospaper, not for the Yard."

"That's his blarney," smirked Elkin. "A detective doesn't go about
telling everybody what he is."

"Whatever his profession may be," put in Siddle's quiet voice, "I happen
to know that he is dining with Mr. Grant. So are Mr. Martin and Doris. By
mere chance I called at Mrs. Jefferson's. I went to the back door, and,
finding it closed, looked into the garden. From there I couldn't help
seeing the assembly on the lawn of The Hollies."

"Dining at Grant's?" shouted Elkin in a fury. "Well, I'm--"

"'Ush, Fred!" expostulated Tomlin with a shocked glance at Mr. Franklin.
"Wot's wrong wi' a bit of grub, ony ways? A very nice-spoken young gent
kem 'ere twiced, an' axed for Mr. Peters the second time. He's a friend
o' Mr. Grant's, I reckon."

"What's wrong?" stormed the horse-dealer. "Why, everything's wrong! The