“They might,” he said cautiously, “but I shouldn’t think they will.  Laura knows you, old fellow.  She’ll be prepared for a terrific wigging, and she’ll want to get home and get it over.”  A dim gleam of mirth relieved Val’s mind a trifle:  when the devil of jealousy was in possession he always cast out Bernard’s sense of humour, a subordinate imp at the best of times and not of a healthy breed.  “Besides, there’s Isabel to consider.  She’ll be in a great state of mind, poor child, though it probably isn’t in the least her fault.  By the bye, if there’s no more I can do for you, I ought to go home and see after Jim.  He expressed his intention of sitting up for Isabel, and I only wonder he hasn’t been down here before now.  Probably he went to sleep over his Church Times, or else buried himself in some venerable volume of patristic literature and forgot about her.  But when Fanny gets down he’ll be tearing his hair.”

“Go by all means,” said Bernard.  “You must be fagged out, Val; have you been at the piano all these hours?  How you spoil me, you and Laura!  Get some breakfast, lie down for a nap, and after that you can go on to Countisford and meet them in the car.”

“All right!” In face of Bernard’s thoughtful and practical good humour Val’s suspicions had faded.  “Shall I come back or will you send the car up for me?” Neither he nor Clowes saw anything unusual in these demands on his time and energy:  it was understood that the duties of the agency comprised doing anything Bernard wanted done at any hour of day or night.

“I’ll send her up.  Stop a bit.”  Clowes knit his brows and looked down, evidently deep in thought.  “Yes, that’s the ticket.  You take Isabel home and send Lawrence and Laura on alone.  Drop them at the lodge before you drive her up.  She’ll be tired out and it’s a good step up the hill.  And you must apologize for me to your father for giving him so much anxiety.  Lawrence must have been abominably careless to let them lose their train:  they ought to have had half an hour to spare.”

“He is casual.”

“Oh very:  thinks of nothing but himself.  Pity you and he can’t strike a balance!  Good-bye.  Mind you take your sister straight home and apologize to your father for Hyde’s antics.  Say I’m sorry, very sorry to mix her up in such a pickle, and I wouldn’t have let her in for it if it could have been avoided.  Touch the bell for me before you go, will you?  I want Barry.”

Val let himself out by the window and the impassive valet entered.  But it was some time before Bernard spoke to him.

“Is that you, Barry?  I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Now what’s in the wind?” speculated Barry behind his professional mask.  “Up all night and civil in the morning?  Oh no, I don’t think.”

“Shall I wheel you to your room, sir?”

“Not yet,” said Clowes.  He waited to collect his strength.  “Shut all those windows.”  Barry obeyed.  “Turn on the electric light . . . .Put up the shutters and fasten them securely . . . .  Now I want you to go all over the house and shut and fasten all the other ground floor windows:  then come back to me.”