“It must be kept from Mother,” he said.  “Get hold of to-morrow’s paper, and if the paragraph is there, cut it out or tear off the page.”

“But people will write, or call.  They are sure to speak of it.”

“That’s your chance.  Intercept ’em.  You always read the Mater’s letters to her, don’t you?  Keep the servants’ mouths shut.  And I want you to write for me to all those people and cry off; pressing business—­any excuse you like.”

“But you, Charley?”

“I’m off to London, to-night; must see what can be done for the old dad, you know.”

“How shall we explain to Mother?  She has been looking forward to your spending your last night at home.”

“Roddy will come up by and by with an urgent telephone message.  The Mater is so used to that sort of thing that she won’t smell a rat.”

“How you think of everything, Charley!  But I’m afraid Mother will notice something in our manner at dinner.”

“Not if we’re careful.  You take your cue from me.  Come along!”

No one would have guessed at that dinner table that anything was amiss.  Smith seemed to be in the highest spirits, talking incessantly, describing his sudden descent on Firtop Farm and his interview with the farmer so racily that his mother laughed gently, and even Kate, for all her anxiety, smiled.  In the middle of the meal the belated telegram arrived, giving Smith an opportunity for poking fun at official slowness.

Dinner was hardly over when a servant announced that Mr. Rodier was below, asking to see Mr. Smith upon particular business.  Smith slowly lighted a cigarette before he left the room.  He found Rodier in the hall.

“Got it, Roddy?” he asked.

“Yes, I ask for globe:  Mr. Dawkins give me first a pink paper.  ’Sad news this!’ says he.”

“I hope to goodness he’ll hold his tongue about it.”

“He must have it back to-morrow, he said.  The inspector is coming.”

“All right.  Now cut off to the housekeeper and stroke as hard as you can.  I don’t know when you’ll get another meal.”

Returning to the dining-room, Smith said—­

“Sorry, Mater, I’ve got to go to London at once.  Too bad, isn’t it, spoiling our last night.  Ah well! it can’t be helped.”

“Is it Admiralty business, Charley?” asked his mother.

“Well, not exactly; something about a wreck, I think.”

“I suppose I had better send on your things to the Leslies in the morning?”

“I’ll send you a wire.  I mayn’t go there, after all.  Nuisance having to change again, isn’t it?”

He hastened from the room, got into his air-man suit, covered it with an overall, emptied his cash-box into his pocket, and returned to say good-bye.  Kate accompanied him to the door.

“Buck up, old girl,” he said, as he kissed her.  “I’ll let you know what happens, if I can.  By the way, there’s a globe in the shed I want you to send back to Dawkins, the school-master, first thing to-morrow.  Good-bye!  Send Roddy after me as soon as he has finished his grub.”