'Exactly. Ah--precisely.' He sneezed. 'Bister Ford, without codsulting me--I do not cobbedt on the good taste or wisdob of his actiod--dispatched White to apply for the post of butler at this--ah--house, his predecessor having left at a bobedt's dotice, bribed to do so, I strodgly suspect, by Bister Ford himself. I bay be wrodging Bister Ford, but do dot thig so.' I thought the reasoning sound. 'All thad, however,' resumed Mr Abney, removing his face from a jug of menthol at which he had been sniffing with the tense concentration of a dog at a rabbit-hole, 'is beside the poidt. I berely bedtiod it to explaid why White will accompady you to London.' 'What!' The exclamation was forced from me by my dismay. This was appalling. If this infernal detective was to accompany me, my chance of bringing Ogden back was gone. It had been my intention to go straight to my rooms, in the hope of finding him not yet departed. But how was I to explain his presence there to White? 'I don't think it's necessary, Mr Abney,' I protested. 'I am sure I can manage this affair by myself.' 'Two heads are better thad wud,' said the invalid sententiously, burying his features in the jug once more. 'Too many cooks spoil the broth,' I replied. If the conversation was to consist of copybook maxims, I could match him as long as he pleased. He did not keep up the intellectual level of the discussion. 'Dodseds!' he snapped, with the irritation of a man whose proverb has been capped by another. I had seldom heard him speak so sharply. White's revelation had evidently impressed him. He had all the ordinary peaceful man's reverence for the professional detective. 'White will accompany you, Bister Burds,' he said doggedly. 'Very well,' I said. After all, it might be that I should get an opportunity of giving him the slip. London is a large city. A few minutes later the cab arrived, and White and I set forth on our mission. We did not talk much in the cab. I was too busy with my thoughts to volunteer remarks, and White, apparently, had meditations of his own to occupy him. It was when we had settled ourselves in an empty compartment and the train had started that he found speech. I had provided myself with a book as a barrier against conversation, and began at once to make a pretence of reading, but he broke through my defences. 'Interesting book, Mr Burns?' 'Very,' I said. 'Life's more interesting than books.' I made no comment on this profound observation. He was not discouraged. 'Mr Burns,' he said, after the silence had lasted a few moments. 'Yes?' 'Let's talk for a spell. These train-journeys are pretty slow.'