"You are being asked for on the telephone, sir," he announced.
"It is a trunk call. I have switched it through to the study."
"Any name?" Sir Timothy asked indifferently.
The man hesitated. His eyes sought his master's respectfully but
charged with meaning.
"The person refuses to give his name, sir, but I fancied that I
recognised his voice. I think it would be as well for you to
speak, sir."
Lady Cynthia sank into a chair.
"You shall go and answer your telephone call," she said, "and
leave Hedges to serve me with one of these strange drinks. I
believe I see some of my favourite orangeade."
Sir Timothy made his way into the house and into the low,
oak-beamed study with its dark furniture and latticed windows.
The telephone bell began to ring again as he entered. He took
up the receiver.
"Sir Timothy?" a rather hoarse, strained voice asked.
"I am speaking," Sir Timothy replied. "Who is it?"
The man at the other end spoke as though he were out of breath.
Nevertheless, what he said was distinct enough.
"I am John Walter."
"Well?"
"I am just ringing you up," the voice went on, "to give you
what's called a sporting chance. There's a boat from Southampton
midday tomorrow. If you're wise, you'll catch it. Or better
still, get off on your own yacht.
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