Billie should be sent to him.

"I want you to go to London," he said, when she appeared. "I must have
legal advice. I want you to go and see Sir Mallaby Marlowe. Tell him
that Henry Mortimer is annoying me in every possible way and sheltering
himself behind his knowledge of the law, so that I can't get at him. Ask
Sir Mallaby to come down here. And, if he can't come himself, tell him
to send someone who can advise me. His son would do, if he knows
anything about the business."

"Oh, I'm sure he does!"

"Eh? How do you know?"

"Well, I mean, he looks as if he does!" said Billie hastily. "He looks
so clever!"

"I didn't notice it myself. Well, he'll do, if Sir Mallaby's too busy to
come himself. I want you to go up to-night, so that you can see him
first thing to-morrow morning. You can stop the night at the Savoy. I've
sent Webster to look out a train."

"There's a splendid train in about an hour. I'll take that."

"It's giving you a lot of trouble," said Mr. Bennett, with belated
consideration.

"Oh, _no_!" said Billie. "I'm only too glad to be able to do this for
you, father dear!"

CHAPTER XI

MR. BENNETT HAS A BAD NIGHT

The fragment of a lobster-shell which had entered Mr. Bennett's tongue
at twenty minutes to two in the afternoon was still in occupation at
half-past eleven that night, when that persecuted gentleman blew out his
candle and endeavoured to compose himself for a night's slumber. Its
unconscious host had not yet been made aware of its presence. He had a
vague feeling that the tip of his tongue felt a little sore, but his
mind was too engrossed with the task of keeping a look-out for the
preliminary symptoms of mumps to have leisure to bestow much attention
on this phenomenon. The discomfort it caused was not sufficient to keep
him awake, and presently he turned on his side and began to fill the
room with a rhythmical snoring.

How pleasant if one could leave him so--the good man taking his rest.
Facts, however, are facts; and, having crept softly from Mr. Bennett's
side with the feeling that at last everything is all right with him, we
are compelled to return three hours later to discover that everything is
all wrong. It is so dark in the room that our eyes can at first discern
nothing; then, as we grow accustomed to the blackness, we perceive him
sitting bolt upright in bed, staring glassily before him, while with the
first finger of his right hand he touches apprehensively the