"There wasn't any use wiring you the truth, Roger. I didn't want to make you unhappy any sooner than I had to. Are you upset?"
"Nothing can ever upset me again," I said with dignity. "It's your house. I can move out."
"But you won't, Roger," he clapped an arm around my shoulders and walked me into the study. "We're not going to bother you. But we just had to get away from town for some road work--and it's devilish conspicuous anywhere near the city, people watching, reporters and all that sort of thing."
He turned, for the dismayed servants had come out and stood in a row in the hall aghast at the appearance of the visitors who stood awkwardly shifting their feet in the main doorway, their suit-cases and bundles in their arms, awaiting directions.
"Take those things upstairs--show 'em, Christopher," says Jerry. "You show 'em to their rooms, Poole. And when you're washed up, Flynn, come down here again."
Over his shoulder I watched the hulking devils go past in sheepish single file with furtive glances at me. When they had passed out of sight, Jerry explained rapidly.
"You see, Roger, we had to do it. There was no other way. I needed some running badly and there wasn't a chance for it--without the whole thing coming out in the papers."
I smiled ironically. "And you think you've chosen a way to avoid publicity by bringing these"--I restrained myself with difficulty--"these _gentlemen_ here? Don't you know that every paper in New York will have a man here writing the thing up?"
"No, they won't. They can't get in. I stopped at the Lodge as I came by and gave my orders."
"But they'll know that Jim Robinson and Jerry Benham are the same."
Jerry winked an eye and laid a finger along his nose.
"No, they won't, old Dry-as-dust, for the very simple reason that he isn't."
"Well, you see, I'm Jim Robinson and _you_ are Jerry Benham."
"Precisely. You are Jerry Benham, patron of the manly art--Mæcenas, friend and backer of Robinson aforesaid, whom you've invited to Horsham Manor to complete his training."
"Preposterous! These--these bruisers" (I let go now) "think I'm _you_?"
"No, dear Roger, not I, who am Robinson, but Jerry Benham, multi-millionaire and king of good fellows. Flynn knows the truth, of course, but he's shut as tight as a clam. He won't talk, for his own interests are involved."