“Nobody seems to be at liberty to tell me anything,” said the dismal man. “But what’s the idea of that letter? Somebody’s got her in that place with a fearful name!” He slapped his side. “Tappatt--the chap who worries the wine! You know this fellow--the perfectly horrible doctor! I’ll bet he’s the perfectly awful villain of the piece! He hasn’t been near the house for days, and he had been sleuthing round Chester Square a lot lately. And”--he slapped his knee again--“and there was a trunk call came through from the country last night! I was in the hall when the bell rang, and I’m sure he was the johnny who called. He asked for her ladyship. Gallows Farm: that’s the place he lives!” Suddenly he jumped up, his eyes bright with excitement. “She’s there--I’ll bet a million pounds to a strawberry ice! Gallows Farm, Somerset.” He tapped his forehead. “I signed a paper about that, I’ll swear! It is one of the job lots her ladyship bought two or three years ago, or one of her bailiffs bought. She is always buying old properties and selling ’em at a profit. And I know old stick-in-the-mud has got a home somewhere--Tappatt, I mean--because her ladyship said she’d send me there if I wasn’t jolly careful. That rosy-nosed hound has got Miss Reddle!” They looked at one another in silence. “You’re a detective, Selwyn!” she breathed ecstatically, and he pulled at his moustache. “I’m pretty smart at some things--what about a rescue?” said his lordship suddenly. “A what?” Lizzy’s heart beat faster. “A rescue,” he nodded. “What about hopping down into Somerset, seeing old stick-in-the-mud, and saying: ‘Look here, old top, this sort of thing can’t be tolerated in civilised society. Hand over Miss Reddle or you’ll get into serious trouble’?” Lizzy’s enthusiasm died down. “I don’t think that would make much difference to him,” she said. “And it would be unnecessary, Selwyn; if Michael Dorn is there she will be released this afternoon.” Selwyn was disappointed. “Besides,” Lizzy went on, “what would her ladyship say if you were away all day?” “Blow her ladyship!” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve had enough of her ladyship--I have really. I’ve made up my mind that I’m through with Chester Square, and I’ve got my eye on a dinky little flat in Knightsbridge,” he said rapidly. “I feel it is time I asserted myself. My idea is to live incognito. I’m going to call myself Mr. Smith----” “Indeed?” said Lizzy coldly. “It’s a pretty good name. Anyway, Brown is as good.” He amended his plans in some haste. “Now what about a little bit of lunch somewhere?” An hour later Lizzy went dizzily into the great dining-room of the Ritz-Carlton, and Lady Moron, entertaining a guest at a corner table, looked at her through her lorgnettes and shrugged her large shoulders. “Selwyn is sowing his wild oats rather late in life,” she said, and Chesney Praye, who had returned from Paris that morning, was mildly amused. Chapter Thirty