"I hope not," said Tony. "A sobered down Jimmy would be a lamentable object--something like an archangel with his wings clipped." "What he says is true enough, I suppose," pursued Guy. "At least it only confirms what Congosta told us." Tony nodded. "Things are on the move all right," he remarked complacently. "I am pretty sure Da Freitas meant to press the button just as soon as the wedding was over. He must be tearing his back hair over this hitch in the programme." "I am glad we have got Isabel away from the Spaldings," observed Guy, handing back the letter, "I shan't feel really easy in my mind though, until she is on board the _Betty_." "Well, it won't be long now," said Tony, "and anyway she is pretty safe at Chester Square. Aunt Fanny is keeping her tight to the house, and so far they haven't seen a sign of any one hanging about. I really think we handed 'em the dummy all right, though it doesn't do to be too sure about things with a gentleman like Da Freitas." "I wish we had some idea what he was up to," said Guy. "There is something very trying about this uncertainty." "I have hopes of Molly," replied Tony, pouring himself out a second cup of tea in an absent-minded fashion. "She rang me up yesterday while I was out, and left a message that I was to come and see her this morning without fail." He took a meditative sip, and then set down the cup. "It's about time we heard something from Congosta too," he added. Guy shrugged his shoulders. "I shouldn't put any faith in him. He is probably playing his own game just as much as Da Freitas is." Tony looked at him sadly. "You get more cynical every day, Guy. I believe in Congosta. No man could have such a beautiful faith in the British Aristocracy unless there was some good in him." He pushed back his chair and rose from the table. "I'm off to see Molly anyway," he added. "I've a feeling that she has something exciting to tell us, and a certain amount of excitement has become necessary to my system. I can't get my afternoon sleep without it." "I wish you would try to be a little more serious," answered Guy in a fretful voice. Tony paused at the door. "I do try," he said apologetically, "but it's very difficult for a beginner." It was just a quarter past ten when Tony arrived outside Basil Mansions, the big block of flats where Molly lived. He caught sight of a clock as he pulled up the car, and it suddenly struck him that in spite of the urgency of Molly's message, it was still rather early to disturb her slumbers. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to fill in a little time by motoring on to the R.A.C. and calling for his letters. Amongst the several clubs to which he belonged the latter was the one at which he was accustomed to receive the largest number of communications. The majority of them were trade circulars from motor firms, and it was his custom to drop in at least twice a week and commit them to the hall porter's waste-paper basket.