I took Sir Walter to town by the Bath
Road and made good going. It was a soft breathless June morning,
with a promise of sultriness later, but it was delicious enough
swinging through the little towns with their freshly watered streets,
and past the summer gardens of the Thames valley. I landed Sir
Walter at his house in Queen Anne's Gate punctually by half-past
eleven. The butler was coming up by train with the luggage.
The first thing he did was to take me round to Scotland Yard.
There we saw a prim gentleman, with a clean-shaven, lawyer's face.
'I've brought you the Portland Place murderer,' was Sir Walter's
introduction.
The reply was a wry smile. 'It would have been a welcome
present, Bullivant. This, I presume, is Mr Richard Hannay, who for
some days greatly interested my department.'
'Mr Hannay will interest it again. He has much to tell you, but
not today. For certain grave reasons his tale must wait for
four hours. Then, I can promise you, you will be entertained and
possibly edified. I want you to assure Mr Hannay that he will suffer
no further inconvenience.'
This assurance was promptly given. 'You can take up your life
where you left off,' I was told. 'Your flat, which probably you no
longer wish to occupy, is waiting for you, and your man is still
there. As you were never publicly accused, we considered that there
was no need of a public exculpation.
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