“Of course they would,” said Lord Caterham, with evident enjoyment.

Lomax, whose voice had risen to a high pitch, took a grip on himself.

“I must keep calm,” he murmured. “I must keep calm. But I ask you this, my dear fellow. If he didn’t mean mischief, why did he send the manuscript to London in this roundabout way?”

“It’s odd, certainly. You are sure of your facts?”

“Absolutely. We⁠—er⁠—had our agents in Paris. The memoirs were conveyed away secretly some weeks before his death.”

“Yes, it looks as though there’s something in it,” said Lord Caterham, with the same relish he had displayed before.

“We have found out that they were sent to a man called Jimmy, or James, McGrath, a Canadian at present in Africa.”