e Signal.

'I don't see anything about Simon Fuge here,' said she.

'Oh, nonsense!' said her husband. 'Buchanan's sure to have got
something in about it. Let's look.'

He received the paper from his wife, but failed to discover in it a
word concerning the death of Simon Fuge.

'Dashed if I don't ring Buchanan up and ask him what he means! Here's a
paper with an absolute monopoly in the district, and brings in about
five thousand a year clear to somebody, and it doesn't give the news!
There never is anything but advertisements and sporting results in the
blessed thing.'

He rushed to his telephone, which was in the hall. Or rather, he did
not rush; he went extremely quickly, with aggressive footsteps that
seemed to symbolize just retribution. We could hear him at the
telephone.

'Hello! No. Yes. Is that you, Buchanan? Well, I want Mr Buchanan. Is
that you, Buchanan? Yes, I'm all right. What in thunder do you mean by
having nothing in tonight about Simon Fuge's death? Eh? Yes, the
Gazette. Well, I suppose you aren't Scotch for nothing. Why the devil
couldn't you stop in Scotland and edit papers there?' Then a laugh. 'I
see. Yes. What did you think of those cigars? Oh! See you at the
dinner. Ta-ta.' A final ring.

'The real truth is, he wanted some advice as to the tone of his
obituary notice,' said Mr Brindley, coming back into the drawing-room.
'He's got it, seemingly. He says he's writing it now, for tomorrow. He
didn't put in the mere news of the death, because it was exclusive to
the Gazette, and he's been having some difficulty with the Gazette
lately. As he says, tomorrow afternoon will be quite soon enough for
the Five Towns. It isn't as if Simon Fuge was a cricket match. So now
you see how the wheels go round, Mr Loring.'

He sat down to the piano and began to play softly the Castle motive
from the Nibelung's Ring. He kept repeating it in different keys.

'What about the mumps, wife?' he asked Mrs Brindley, who had been out
of the room and now returned.

'Oh! I don't think it is mumps,' she replied. 'They're all asleep.'

'Good!' he murmured, still playing the Castle motive.

'Talking of Simon Fuge,' I said determined to satisfy my curiosity,
'who WERE the two sisters?'

'What two sisters?'

'That he spent the night in the boat with, on Ilam Lake.'

'Was that in the Gazette? I didn't read all the article.'

He changed abruptly into the Sword motive, which he gave with a violent
flourish, and t