What about Uncle Francis--could
he pull any strings for us? And will he if he can?"
"The very man!" said Jack, "if he really will take the thing up. He's in
it with the best kind of big-wig for our purpose. And I rather think the
idea might appeal to his sense of humour. Anyhow, I'll see him to-night
when I get back to town, and failing him I'll try some one else."
And that was the abrupt end of those restful days, dozing in a deck chair
listening to the cawing rooks at Winterdean Hall Convalescent Hospital.
II
A LITTLE DINNER
On the Tuesday evening, just four days later, I hobbled up the steps of
my Uncle's club and put the same question I had so often put before to
the same sleek benignant hall porter.
"Sir Francis Merton?"
He was as benignant as ever, but he handed me over to an attractive war
worker with a detached air that showed he was quite unconscious of ever
having seen me before. For an instant I was chilled, and then I realised
the happiness of the omen. If my beard alone so changed me, there would
be no fear of recognition when art had reinforced nature.
The only other guest had already arrived:--Commander John Whiteclett. My
uncle was talking to him confidentially before the fire, and at the sight
of that familiar upstanding figure with the dominating nose above the
determined mouth and the fresh complexion and snow-white hair and genial
eyes, all just the same as ever, I felt a sudden sense of confidence in
the issue of my adventure.
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