CHAPTER III

Linthwaite was engaged in eating a chop, and nibbling dry toast, and receiving mental nutriment from the columns of a half-penny newspaper when, next morning, Woodmansey suddenly walked into the coffee-room of the Chalgrove Hotel. One glance at the visitor’s face showed Linthwaite that it was business that had brought him there. “Hullo!” he stammered. “You? I say, is anything wrong?” “Don’t alarm yourself,” answered Woodmansey, “nothing to trouble you. I want you to come down to our place, though—now, with me. The …