"
She leaned across the table towards him, her chin supported by her clenched
hands.
"Then relax all you want to," she begged, with a smile of invitation.
"We'll drop the other stunt, if you don't mind. And please remember, though
I've never enjoyed a dinner more in my life, that we don't want to be too
late for the Empire."
Crawshay returned to his rooms about one o'clock the next morning, with his
hat a little on the back of his head, and wearing, very much against his
prejudice, a white rose in his buttonhole. Brightman, who was awaiting him
there, looked up eagerly at his entrance.
"Any luck, Mr. Crawshay?"
Crawshay laid his hat and coat upon the table and mixed himself a whisky
and soda.
"I am not sure," he replied thoughtfully. "Are you any good at English
history, Brightman?"
"I won an exhibition in my younger days," the detective replied. "I used to
consider myself rather great on history."
"Who won the Wars of the Roses?"
"The Lancastrians, of course."
Crawshay nodded.
"They were the chaps with the red roses, weren't they?" he observed.
"Brightman, I fancy we are going to reverse that. I am laying five to one
that I've found out how Jocelyn Thew counts on getting his spoils into
Germany.
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