the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
“There’s something much kinder than that which you could do,” I said.
“You see that box of cigars? Take it down to the smoking room and snip off the ends for me. That would save me no end of trouble. Stagger along, laddie.”
He seemed a bit doubtful; but he staggered. I shoved the parcel into a drawer, locked it, trousered the key, and felt better. I might be a chump, but, dash it, I could outgeneral a mere kid with a face like a ferret. I went downstairs again. Just as I was passing the smoking room door, out curveted Edwin. It seemed to me that if he wanted to do