“I think, Mr. Lomax,” said Anthony, “that I had the pleasure of receiving a letter from you yesterday.”

George stared at him.

“I think not,” he said coldly.

But he wished that Miss Oscar were here. Miss Oscar wrote all his letters for him, and remembered who they were to and what they were about. A great man like George could not possibly remember all these annoying details.

“I think, Mr. Cade,” he hinted, “that you were about to give us some⁠—er⁠—explanation of what you were doing in the grounds last night at 11:45?”

His tone said plainly: “And whatever it may be, we are not likely to believe it.”