"If you like to ask at his house--" "O, ring off!" cried Theydon, who pictured the secretary as a lanky hollow-cheeked Scot, a model of discretion and trustworthiness, no doubt, but utterly unequal to a crisis demanding some measure of self-confident initiative.

In reality, Mr.Macdonald was short and stout, and quite a jovial little man.
After an exasperating delay, he got into communication with the Forbes mansion in Fortescue Square.
"I'm Mr.Frank Theydon," he said, striving to speak unconcernedly.

"Is Mr.Forbes in ?" "No, sir." "Is that you, Tomlinson ?" "Yes, sir." "Can you tell me where I can find Mr.Forbes at once ?" "Isn't he at his office, sir ?" "No.

He will not be there till 12 o'clock." A pause of indecision on Tomlinson's part.

Then, a possible solution of the difficulty.
"Would you care to have a word with Miss Evelyn, sir ?" "O, yes, yes." Theydon blurted out this emphatic acceptance of the butler's suggestion without a thought as to its possible consequences.