Since it was hardly likely that the wire was for me, I continued to smoke with undisturbed serenity.  Perhaps ten minutes passed, and I was just wondering whether the message had anything to do with the arrangements which McMurtrie was making on my behalf, when a door slammed and I heard someone coming up the stairs.  I knew from the sound that it was the doctor himself.

He entered the room, and looked round with his usual suave smile.  To all outward appearance he was as composed as ever, but I had a curious presentiment that something unexpected had happened.  However, I thought it best to show no sign of any such impression.

“Good-morning,” I said, knocking out my pipe and stuffing it away in my pocket—­or rather Savaroff’s pocket.  “A grand day, isn’t it!”

“Beautiful,” he answered genially—­“quite beautiful.”  Then he walked across and sat down on the end of the bed.  “As a matter of fact, I came up to see whether you felt like taking advantage of it.”

“Do you mean that it’s safe for me to go out?” I asked with some eagerness.

He shrugged his shoulders.  “It’s as safe as it ever will be; but I meant rather more than that.”

There was a pause.

“Yes?” I said encouragingly.

“I meant that our preparations are going on so well, that as far as I can see there is nothing to be gained by keeping you here any longer.  I have just had a wire to say that the cottage and shed we have been arranging for near Tilbury are practically finished.  If you want your week in London I think you had better go up this afternoon.”

His proposal took me so completely by surprise that for a moment I hardly knew what to say.  Somehow or other, I had a suspicion that he was keeping something back.  I knew that he had intended me to stay where I was for at least another three days, and he was not the sort of man to change his plans without an uncommonly good reason.

Still, the last thing I wanted was to let him think that I in any way doubted his good faith, so pulling myself together, I forced a really creditable laugh.

“Right you are,” I said.  “It’s rather short notice, but I’m game to start any time.  The only thing is, what am I to do about clothes?”

“You can keep those you’re wearing to go up in,” he answered.  “When you get to London you must buy yourself an outfit.  Get what you want at different shops and pay for them in cash.  I will advance you fifty pounds, which ought to be enough to last you the week.”

“One can do quite a lot of dressing and dissipation on fifty pounds,” I replied cheerfully.  “Where am I going to stay?”

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.  “Here’s the address,” he said.  “It’s a lodging-house near Victoria Station, kept by a sister of Mrs. Weston.  You will find it comfortable and quiet, and you needn’t worry about the landlady having any suspicions.  I have told her that you have just come back from abroad and that you want to be in London for several days on business.  You will pass under the name of Nicholson—­James Nicholson.”