“You forget,” said Rollison sententiously, “that London is my home.”

“And the old farmhouse could be the home from home,” boomed M.M.M., his eyes acquiring a brilliant light. He drew a little closer to Rollison, put his head on one side, and made it obvious that he was now carrying out a strict appraisal, “I knew it,” he went on, with great earnestness. “Your eyes are lack lustre. The spark of greatness is fading fast. Your genius is at stake. You need rest, a week or two in the country every other week-end, tramping the meadows and the copses with a gun under your arm and a faithful retriever at your heels. You need to sniff the fresh and wholesome country air, hve under the bright blue sky, sleep within the sight and sound of nature, and eat and drink “

“Fresh milk, fresh eggs and bacon grown in my own backyard.”

“You see,” said M.M.M. triumphantly. “You admit it.”

Rollison chuckled.

“At the very least, you could look the place over,” urged M.M.M. “It’s only about an hour and a half away from London. I’ll drive you.”

“Not in a thousand years !”

“But I’m good, safe, and reliable. I passed my test.”

“The examiner must have wanted to buy a farm, cheap.”

“He wasn’t interested in farms,” said M.M.M. dreamily, “but I did happen to know that he’s looking for a flat, and I mentioned that a friend of mine had one just about where this chap wanted to Hve. If you can’t do a man a good turn once in a while, what is the point in Uving?” asked M.M.M., now virtuously. “All right, we’ll go in your car.”

“Why are you so anxious to get me down on the farm ?” demanded Rollison.

“My dear old Roily, I’ve told you. That dullness in the eye, the pallor of the cheek, the lack of snap in the old reflexes, they’re not like you. You need pep. The world-renowned Toff mustn’t begin to slip, you know. At any moment the greatest investigation of your career might come walking in at that door.”