and cry. Egad, empty and shivering as he was, he wanted nothing but to be
let go. A perfect Christian, as you remark, Geoffrey. Now, you or I, if
we had been tied up in the mud through one of these damned raw nights,
would take some pains to catch the fellow who did the trussing. But my
wretch was as meek as the Gospels. So here is a silly, teasing mystery.
Who is the footpad that is at the pains of tying up a fellow and never
looks for his purse? Odds fish, I did not know we had a gentleman of such
humour in these parts. I suspect you, Geoffrey, I protest. There's a
misty fatuousness about it which--"

"By your leave, sir," a servant appeared, "my lady waits dinner."

"Then I fear we shall pay for it," said Hadley, and stood up.

"You dine with us, Charles?" Mr. Waverton was not hearty about it.

"I'll give you that pleasure, child. Well, Mr. Boyce, what do you make of
my mystery?"

Harry had to say something. "Perhaps your friend was carrying more than
guineas," he said.

"What then? Papers and plots and the high political? I don't think it. If
you saw him--a mere tub of beer--and a leaky tub this morning, for he had
a vile cold in the head and dribbled damnably."

"I give it up then. Have you let him go?" They were moving out in the
corridor and Hadley did not answer. "Is he gone?" Harry said again.

Hadley turned round upon him. "Why, yes. Does it signify?"