Later.

Pagett is in his element. His brain positively scintillates with bright ideas. He will have it now that Rayburn is none other than the famous “man in the brown suit.” I dare say he is right. He usually is. But all this is getting unpleasant. The sooner I get off to Rhodesia the better. I have explained to Pagett that he is not to accompany me.

“You see, my dear fellow,” I said, “you must remain here on the spot. You might be required to identify Rayburn any minute. And, besides, I have my dignity as an English Member of Parliament to think of. I can’t go about with a secretary who has apparently recently been indulging in a vulgar street brawl.”

Pagett winced. He is such a respectable fellow that his appearance is pain and tribulation to him.

“But what will you do about your correspondence and the notes for your speeches, Sir Eustace?”

“I shall manage,” I said airily.

“Your private car is to be attached to the eleven o’clock train tomorrow, Wednesday, morning,” Pagett continued. “I have made all arrangements. Is Mrs. Blair taking a maid with her?”

“ Mrs. Blair?” I gasped.

“She tells me you offered her a place.”

So I did, now I come to think of it. On the night of the fancy-dress ball. I even urged her to come. But I never thought she would! Delightful as she is, I do not know that I want Mrs. Blair’s society all the way to Rhodesia and back. Women require such a lot of attention. And they are confoundedly in the way sometimes.

“Have I asked anyone else?” I said nervously. One does these things in moments of expansion.