“Bingo!”

He spun round; and, by Jove, his face wasn’t friendly after all. It was what they call contorted. He waved his arms at me like a semaphore.

“ ’Sh!” he hissed. “Would you ruin me?”

“Eh?”

“Didn’t you get my telegram?”

“Was that your telegram?”

“Of course it was my telegram.”

“Then why didn’t you sign it?”

“I did sign it.”

“No, you didn’t. I couldn’t make out what it was all about.”