“Yes.”

“How very improper,” I said. “Pagett will be quite shocked. He always did disapprove of Anne Beddingfeld. I suppose that was the young man she originally intended to meet in Durban?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to,” I said, by way of encouraging him.

“I fancy that this is a young man we should all be very glad to lay our hands on.”

“Not⁠—?” I cried, in rising excitement.

He nodded.

“Harry Rayburn, alias Harry Lucas⁠—that’s his real name, you know. He’s given us all the slip once more, but we’re bound to rope him in soon.”

“Dear me, dear me,” I murmured.