“No, sir.”

Mr. Prohack hesitated a moment and then said: 

“Drive into Hyde Park, please, and keep to the north side.”

When the car had reached a quiet spot in the park, Mr. Prohack stopped it, and, tapping on the front window, summoned Carthew.

“Carthew,” said he, through the side-window, which he let down without opening the door, “we’re by ourselves.  Will you kindly explain to me why you concealed from Mrs. Prohack that I was in London?”

“Well, sir,” Carthew answered, very erect and slightly frowning, “I didn’t know you were in London, if you understand what I mean.”

“Didn’t you bring me to London?  Of course you knew I was in London.”

“No, sir.  Not if you understand what I mean.”

“I emphatically do not understand what you mean,” said Mr. Prohack, who, however, was not speaking the truth.

“May I put a question, sir?” Carthew suggested.  “Having regard to all the circumstances—­I say having regard as it were to all the circumstances, in a manner of speaking, what should you have done in my place, sir?”

“How do I know?” cried Mr. Prohack.  “I’m not a chauffeur.  What did you say to Mrs. Prohack?”

“I said that you had instructed me to return to London, as you didn’t need the car, and that I was just going to the house for orders.  And by the way, sir,” Carthew added, glancing at the car-clock, “Madam told me to be back at twelve fifteen—­I told her I ought to go to the garage to get something done to the carbureter—­so that there is not much time.”

Mr. Prohack jumped out of the car and said:  “Go.”

Wandering alone in the chilly Park he reflected upon the potentialities of human nature as exhibited in chauffeurs.  The fellow Carthew had evidently come to the conclusion that there was something wrong in the more intimate relationships of the Prohack family, and, faced with a sudden contretemps, he had acted according to the best of his wisdom and according to his loyalty to his employer, but he had acted wrongly.  But of course the original sinner was Mr. Prohack himself.  Respectable State officials, even when on sick leave, do not call at empty houses and stay at hotels within a stone’s throw of their own residences unknown to their families.  No!  Mr. Prohack saw that he had been steering a crooked course.  Error existed and must be corrected.  He decided to walk direct to Manchester Square.  If Eve wanted the car at twelve fifteen she would be out of the house at twelve thirty, and probably out for lunch.  So much the better.  She should find him duly established on her return.

Reconnoitring later at Manchester Square he saw no car, and rang the bell of the noble mansion.  On account of the interview of the previous evening he felt considerably nervous and foolish, and the butler suffered through no fault of the butler’s.

“I’m Mr. Prohack,” said he, with self-conscious fierceness.  “What’s your name?  Brool, eh?  Take my overcoat and send Machin to me at once.”  He lit a cigarette to cover himself.  The situation, though transient, had been sufficiently difficult.