nervous system is thoroughly out of tune."

"So is the orchestrion," said Sir Mallaby. "I remember once when I was
down there...."

"I hope you will come down there again, Sir Mallaby," said Mr. Mortimer,
"during our occupancy of the house. And you, too," he said, addressing
Sam.

"I am afraid," said Sam frigidly, "that my time will be very much
occupied for the next few months. Thank you very much," he added, after
a moment's pause.

"Sam's going to work," said Sir Mallaby.

"Yes," said Sam with dark determination. "Work is the only thing in life
that matters!"

"Oh, come, Sam!" said Sir Mallaby. "At your age I used to think love was
fairly important, too!"

"Love!" said Sam. He jabbed at his souffle with a spoon. You could see
by the scornful way he did it that he did not think much of love.

Sec. 4

Sir Mallaby, the last cigar of the night between his lips, broke a
silence which had lasted a quarter of an hour. The guests had gone, and
he and Sam were alone together.

"Sam," he said, "do you know what I think?"

"No," said Sam.

Sir Mallaby removed his cigar and spoke impressively. "I've been
turning the whole thing over in my mind, and the conclusion I have come
to is that there is more in this Windles business than meets the eye.
I've known your Aunt Adeline all my life, and I tell you it isn't in
that woman to change her infernal pig-headed mind, especially about
letting her house. She is a monomaniac on that subject. If you want to
know my opinion, I am quite certain that your cousin Eustace has let the
place to these people without her knowledge, and intends to pocket the
cheque and not say a word about it. What do you think?"

"Eh?" said Sam absently.

"I said, what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?"

"About Eustace Hignett and Windles."

"What about them?"

Sir Mallaby regarded him disprovingly. "I'm hanged if I know what's the
matter with you to-night, Sam. You seem to have unhitched your brain and
left it in the umbrella stand. You hadn't a word to say for yourself all
through dinner. You might have been a Trappist monk. And with that
delightful girl Miss Bennett, there, too. She must have thought you
infernally dull."

"I'm sorry."

"It's no good being sorry now. The mischief's done. She has gone away
thinking you an idiot. Do you realise," said Sir Mallaby warmly, "that
when she told that extremely funny story about the man who made such a
fool of himself on board