"Righto." He turned to go to his room, and then came back again.
"I say, are we going to tell Cayley that we're staying at 'the
George'?"

"You're not staying at 'the George,' Bill. Not officially.
You're going back to London."

"Oh!"

"Yes. Ask Cayley to have your luggage sent in to Stanton, ready
for you when you catch a train there after the inquest. You can
tell him that you've got to see the Bishop of London at once.
The fact that you are hurrying back to London to be confirmed
will make it seem more natural that I should resume my
interrupted solitude at 'the George' as soon as you have gone."

"Then where do I sleep to-night?"

"Officially, I suppose, in Fulham Place; unofficially, I suspect,
in my bed, unless they've got another spare room at 'the George.'
I've put your confirmation robe--I mean your pyjamas and brushes
and things--in my bag, ready for you. Is there anything else
you want to know? No? Then go and pack. And meet me at
ten-thirty beneath the blasted oak or in the hall or somewhere. I
want to talk and talk and talk, and I must have my Watson."

"Good," said Bill, and went off to his room.

An hour later, having communicated their official plans to
Cayley, they wandered out together into the park.