" The article set
me hoping that Travers was a strong man and would use the law of
libel: it deserved the horsewhip. It left a taste in the mouth that
required a second whisky-and-apollinaris before I sought my bed,
sleepily promising myself that I would call on Farrell in the
morning, however inconvenient it might be, and help to put an end to
this nonsense. . . . I would, if the worst came to the worst, even
drag the fool to Jack's laboratory and convince him of his folly.
And this promise, as will be seen, I carried out to the very last
letter.
A rapping on my bedroom door fetched me out of my beauty sleep.
I started up in bed and switched on the electric light.
"That you, Jimmy?" I called. "Come in, you ass, and say what you
want. If it's the corkscrew--"
"If you please, Sir Roderick--sorry to disturb you--" said a voice
outside which I recognised as the night-porter's.
"Smithers?" I called. "What's wrong? . . . Open the door, man. . . .
Is the place on fire?"
The door opened and showed me Smithers with a tall policeman looming
behind him.
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