explained fussily. “ Mr. Blunt, is it not? I am Colonel Kingston Bruce. Will you come into my study?”
He led them into a small room at the back of the house.
“Young St. Vincent was telling me wonderful things about your firm. I’ve noticed your advertisements myself. This guaranteed twenty-four hours service of yours—a marvelous notion. That’s exactly what I need.”
Inwardly anathematizing Tuppence for her irresponsibility in inventing this brilliant detail, Tommy replied: “Just so, Colonel.”
“The whole thing is most distressing, sir, most distressing.”
“Perhaps you would kindly give me the facts,” said Tommy, with a hint of impatience.
“Certainly I will—at once. We have at the present moment staying with us a very old and dear friend of ours, Lady Laura Barton. Daughter of the late Earl of Carrowway. The present Earl, her brother, made a striking speech in the House of Lords the other day. As I say, she is an old and dear friend of ours. Some American friends of mine who have just come over, the Hamilton Betts, were most anxious to meet her. ‘Nothing easier,’ I said. ‘She is staying with me now. Come down for the weekend.’ You know what Americans are about titles, Mr. Blunt.”
“And others besides Americans sometimes, Colonel Kingston Bruce.”
“Alas! only too true, my dear sir. Nothing I hate more than a snob. Well, as I was saying, the