"Yes," replied his uncle grimly. "But I escaped."

"Escaped?"

"A strange word is it not, but a suitable one."

Cuthbert did not know what to make of this speech. "Have I
your permission to smoke?" he asked, taking out his case.

"Yes! Will you have some coffee?"

"Thank you. I had some before I came here. Will you--" he
extended the case of cigarettes, which Caranby declined.

"Ring for Fletcher to get me my chibouque."

"It is in the corner. We will dispense with Fletcher with
your permission." And Cuthbert brought the chibouque to his
uncle's side. In another minute the old man was smoking as
gravely as any Turk. This method of consuming tobacco was
another eccentricity. For a few moments neither spoke. Then
Caranby broke the silence.

"So you want me to help you to find out Mrs. Octagon's
reason?"

"I do," said Mallow, rather surprised by Caranby's
perspicuity.

"What makes you think I can explain?"