Sam rose reluctantly. Life, he felt with considerable peevishness, was one long round of interruptions. He went round to the door of Mon Repos and let himself in with his key. A rumble of voices proceeding from the drawing-room greeted him as he entered. He banged the door, and a moment later Mr. Braddock came out, looking a little flustered. “Oh, there you are, Sam! I was just coming round to fetch you.” “Anything wrong?” “It depends on what you call wrong.” Mr. Braddock closed the drawing-room door carefully. “You know Lord Tilbury?” “Of course I know Lord Tilbury.” “Well, he’s in there,” said Willoughby Braddock, jerking an awed thumb toward the drawing-room, “and he hasn’t got any trousers on.” CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE SAM HEARS BAD NEWS Sam uttered a cry of exceeding bitterness. Nothing is more galling to your strategist than to find that some small, unforeseen accident has occurred and undone all his schemes. The one thing for which he had omitted to allow was the possibility of some trousered caller wandering in during his absence and supplying Mr. Molloy with the means of escape. “So he’s gone, I suppose?” he said morosely. “No, he’s still here,” said Mr. Braddock. “In the drawing-room.” “The man, I mean.” “What man?” “The other man.” “What other man?” asked Mr. Braddock, whose exacting afternoon had begun to sap his mental powers. “Oh, never mind,” said Sam impatiently. “What did Lord Tilbury want, coming down here, confound him?” “Came to see you about something, I should think,” surmised Mr. Braddock. “Didn’t he tell you what it was?” “No. As a matter of fact, we’ve been chatting mostly about trousers. You haven’t got a spare pair in the house by any chance, have you?” “Of course I have--upstairs.” “Then I wish,” said Mr. Braddock earnestly, “that you would dig them out and give them to the old boy. He’s been trying for the last ten minutes to get me to lend him mine, and it simply can’t be done. I’ve got to be getting back to town soon to dress for dinner, and you can say what you like, a fellow buzzing along in a two-seater without any trousers on looks conspicuous.” “Darn that fool, coming down here at just this time!” said Sam, still aggrieved. “What exactly happened?” “Well, he’s a bit on the incoherent side; but as far as I can make out, that man of yours, the chap who called me brother, seems to have gone completely off his onion. Old Tilbury rang the front doorbell, and there was a bit of a pause, and then this chap opened the door and old Tilbury went in, and then he happened to look at him and saw that he hadn’t any trousers on.” “That struck him as strange, of course.” “Apparently he hadn’t much time to think about it, for the bloke immediately proceeded to hold him up with a gun.” “He hadn’t got a gun.” “Well, old Tilbury asserts that he was shoving something against his pocket from inside.” “His finger, or a pipe.”