did so. I entered a large room, a frightened-looking shorthand typist fled past me like a visitant from the spirit world. Then the door shut and I was face to face with Lord Nasby.
A big man. Big head. Big face. Big moustache. Big stomach. I pulled myself together. I had not come here to comment on Lord Nasby’s stomach. He was already roaring at me.
“Well, what is it? What does Loamsley want? You his secretary? What’s it all about?”
“To begin with,” I said with as great an appearance of coolness as I could manage, “I don’t know Lord Loamsley, and he certainly knows nothing about me. I took his card from the tray in the house of the people I’m staying with, and I wrote those words on it myself. It was important that I should see you.”
For a moment it appeared to be a toss up as to whether Lord Nasby had apoplexy or not. In the end, he swallowed twice and got over it.
“I admire your coolness, young woman. Well, you see me! If you interest me, you will continue to see me for exactly two minutes longer.”
“That will be ample,” I replied. “And I shall interest you. It’s the Mill House Mystery.”
“If you’ve found the man in the brown suit, write to the editor,” he interrupted hastily.
“If you will interrupt, I shall be more than two minutes,” I said sternly. “I haven’t found the man in the brown suit, but I’m quite likely to do so.”
In as few words as possible I put the facts of the tube accident and the conclusions I had drawn from them before him. When I had finished he said unexpectedly: