“What paper?” I asked.
My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of his narrative.
“Can it matter?” he asked.
“It is most essential.”
“I really took no notice.”
“Possibly you observed whether it was a broad-leafed paper or of that smaller type which one associates with weeklies.”
“Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have been the Spectator . However, I had little thought to spare upon such details, for a second man was seated with his back to the window, and I could swear that this second man was Godfrey. I could not see his face, but I knew the familiar slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his elbow in an attitude of great melancholy, his body turned towards the fire. I was hesitating as to what I should do when there was a sharp tap on my shoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside me.
“ ‘This way, sir!’ said he in a low voice. He walked in silence to the house, and I followed him into my own bedroom. He had picked up a timetable in the hall.
“ ‘There is a train to London at 8:30,’ said he. ‘The trap will be at the door at eight.’ ”
He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in so difficult a position that I could only stammer out a few incoherent apologies in which I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety for my friend.