Greenacre, you must know, is a private detective."
He nodded solemnly. "Well now, when your letter came to Lord P. he
showed it to Greenacre, and they saw at once that it couldn't be
meant for him, but no doubt was meant for Clover. 'I'll see to
this,' said Greenacre. And so he came to meet us that night."
"But it was _you_ told me he was Lord P.," came from the listener.
"I did, Polly. Not to deceive you, my dear, but because I was taken
in myself. I'd found what they call a mare's nest. I was on the
wrong scent. I take all the blame to myself."
"But why did Greenacre go on with us like that? Why didn't he say at
once that it wasn't Lord P. as had met me?"
"Why? Because private detectives are cautious chaps. Greenacre
wanted to catch Clover, and didn't care to go talking about the
story to everybody. He deceived me, Polly, just as much as you."
She had begun to eat, swallowing a mouthful now and then
mechanically, the look of resentful suspicion still on her face.
"And what do you think?" pursued her companion, after a delicious
draught of lager beer.
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