"How on earth----?" I began.
"Oh, I just jal--guessed it. You being the only member of his Majesty's
Government in whom I have any personal interest, I have always followed
your career closely. (You gave me your card, you'll mind.) Well, I saw
you were having trouble with yon havering body Wuddiford--I once
reported at one of his meetings: he's just a sweetie-wife in
_pince-nez_--and when I saw you busy with an atlas and gazetteer I said
to myself:--'He'll be getting up a few salient facts about the place, in
order to appease the honourable member's insatiable thirst for
knowledge--Toots, there I go again! Man, the journalese fairly soaks
into the system. I doubt now if I could write out twenty lines of
'Paradise Lost' without cross-heading them!"
We finished our cigar over talk like this, and finally rose to go. Robin
lingered upon the steps of the restaurant. I realised that he, being a
Scotsman, was endeavouring to pump up the emotional gratitude which he
felt sure that I, as an Englishman, would expect from a starving pauper
who had lunched at my expense.
"I must thank you," he said at last, rather awkwardly, "for a most
pleasant luncheon. And I should like fine," he added suddenly and
impetuously, "to make out a _précis_ for you on the subject of Caerulea.
Never heed it yourself! Away home, and I'll send it to you to-morrow!"
An idea which had been maturing in my slow-moving brain for some time
suddenly took a definite shape.
"It is extremely kind of you," I said. "I shall be delighted to leave
the matter in your hands. But when you have made the _précis_, I wonder
if you would be so good as to bring it to my house instead of sending
it?"