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"And I told him he must own up. He had no chance of saying anything down the tube, of course, and now it seems he has bolted for London."

"Bolted! Why, of course, that was why he was making streaks for the station at about sixty miles an hour. Good Lord, Reeves, you have done it? I believe you've convinced Marryatt, by sheer logic, that he's a murderer, when he's nothing of the kind."

"No, but I say, do you really think he's bolted?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it? Very much like the old story of the man who telegraphed to the Bishop to say 'All is discovered; fly at once.' Poor old Marryatt must have a guilty conscience about something, mustn't he? I wonder if he's been embezzling the collections? I should think it would be worth about a fortnight in quod, embezzling the Paston Oatvile collections. My ball, I think."

"I wish you'd take this thing seriously."

"I'm doing my best; it was a beast of a lie."

"I don't mean the game, you fool, I mean Marryatt clearing off like this. What happens if he really tries to disappear? How am I to get at him? And what's it all about, anyhow?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what it's all about. But if you ask me, I don't believe Marryatt has bolted for good. He wasn't taking his clubs with him."

"You think he'll come back this evening?"

"I should think almost certainly."

"But look here, what the deuce am I to say to him when he does?"