CHAPTER IIINeil Rockingham did not stay long in Paris. A week after he had left London he was back again in his little Mayfair house, and the first thing he did on his return was to ring up Robert Grenville. The latter hailed the call with satisfaction.
“I say, I’m jolly glad you’re back. I’ve got some news for you, of a sort. Can I roll round now? I want to talk things over.”
“Good. Come straight here. I can give you a scratch meal of sorts. Don’t bother to dress. In about half an hour? Excellent!”
When Grenville was ensconced in Rockingham’s room—it was then about seven o’clock, the latter having reached Charing Cross Station at six—the dramatist said abruptly:
“Any luck in the matter of our friend Debrette?”
“Well, so-so. I ran him to earth. Before I spill my yarn, I wish you’d tel
