ELK went out on the street to see the American. Mr. Broad was in faultless evening dress, and the gleaming head-lamps of his car illuminated the mean street.
“You’ve certainly a nose for trouble,” said Elk with respect; “and whilst you’re telling me how you came to know about this raid, which hadn’t been decided on until half-an-hour ago, I’ll do some quiet wondering.”
“I didn’t know there was a raid,” confessed Joshua Broad, “but when I saw twenty Central Office men dash out of Heron’s Club and drive furiously away, I am entitled to guess that their haste doesn’t indicate their anxiety to get to bed before the clock strikes two. I usually call at Heron’s Club in the early hours. In many ways its members are less desirable acquaintances than the general run of Frogs, but they amuse me. A
