“And is that your explanation of your presence here last night, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” said Anthony warmly. “When I am asked to stay at a country-house, I don’t scale the wall late at night, tramp across the park, and try the downstairs windows. I drive up to the front door, ring the bell and wipe my feet on the mat. I will proceed. I replied to Mr. Lomax’s letter, explaining that the manuscript had passed out of my keeping, and therefore regretfully declining Lord Caterham’s kind invitation. But after I had done so, I remembered something which had up till then escaped my memory.” He paused. The moment had come for skating over thin ice. “I must tell you that in my struggle with the waiter Giuseppe, I had wrested from him a small bit of paper with some words scribbled on it. They had conveyed nothing to me at the time, but I still had them, and the mention of Chimneys recalled them to me. I got the torn scrap out and looked at it. It was as I had thought. Here is the piece of paper, gentlemen, you can see for yourselves. The words on it are ‘Chimneys 11.45 Thursday.’”