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III. ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. And, turning to his daughter, he gave the necessary directions in a low tone. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble. Here I am. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. ’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me. .
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