“I didn’t say I was any age,” I replied. “But I’m twenty-three.”

“Well, then, you’re quite old enough to have a drink. Come into the club and partake of a gin-and-angostura, old man. I’ll clear all this away.”

He pointed to the equipage, the horses, and the groom, and with an apparently magic word whispered into the groom’s ear he did in fact clear them away. They rattled and jingled off in the direction of Leicester Square, while Sullivan muttered observations on the groom’s driving.

“Don’t imagine I make a practice of tooling tandems down to my club,” said Sullivan. “I don’t. I brought the thing along to-day because I’ve sold it complete to Lottie Cass. You know her, of course?”