is very late,” she said.
You may think it strange that the sound of that name should have sloshed into my nerve-centres like a half-brick. But, take it from me, to a man who has had any dealings with Sir Roderick Glossop there is only one Roderick in the world. And that is one too many.
“Roderick?” I gurgled.
“My brother-in-law, Sir Roderick Glossop, comes to Cambridge tonight,” said the prof. “He lectures at St. Luke’s tomorrow. He is coming here to dinner.”
And while I stood there, feeling like the hero when he discovers that he is trapped in the den of the Secret Nine, the door opened.
“Sir Roderick Glossop,” announced the maid or some such