As I took my seat—­

“Is Katharine’s advertisement in?” I asked.

My sister nodded.

“She’s put her telephone number, too.”

“Has she?  She will be mad when she sees we’ve had the same idea.”

“Ah,” said Berry.  “I’d forgotten the telephone.  That’s another vulnerable spot.  I shouldn’t wonder if——­”

The sentence was never finished.

The hurried stammer of the telephone bell made a dramatic irruption, and
Jill, who was in the act of drinking, choked with excitement.

In silence we listened, to be quite sure.  A second prolonged vibration left no room for doubt.

“They’re off,” said Berry.

“I—­I feel quite nervous,” said Daphne.  “Let Falcon answer it.”

But Jill was already at the door....

Breathlessly we awaited her return.

Nobby, apparently affected by the electricity with which the air was charged, started to relieve his feelings by barking stormily.  The nervous outburst of reproof which greeted his eloquence was so unexpectedly menacing that he retired precipitately beneath the table, his small white tail clapped incontinently between his legs.

The next moment Jill tore into the room.

“It’s a cook!” she cried in a tempestuous whisper.  “It’s a cook!  She wants to speak to Daphne.  It’s a trunk call.  She’s rung up from Torquay.”

“Torquay!” I cried aghast.  “Good Heavens!”

“What did I say?” said Berry.  My sister rose in some trepidation.  “Two hundred miles is nothing.  Have another hunk of toast.  It was only made on Sunday, so I can recommend it.”

Daphne hastened from the room, with Jill twittering at her heels, and in some dudgeon I cut myself a slice of bread.

Berry turned his attention to the Sealyham.

“Nobby, my lad, come here.”

Signifying his delight at this restoration to favour by an unusually elaborate rotatory movement of his tail, the terrier emerged from his cover and humbled himself at his patron’s feet.  The latter picked him up and set him upon his knee.

“My lad,” he said, “this is going to be a momentous day.  Cooks, meet to be bitten, are due to arrive in myriads.  Be ruthless.  Spare neither the matron nor the maid.  What did Mr. Henry say in 1415?—­

This day is call’d the feast of Sealyham: 
She that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will sit with caution when this day is named. 
And shudder at the name of Sealyham. 
She that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the razzle feast her neighbours,
And say, ‘To-morrow is Saint Sealyham’: 
Then will she strip her hose and show her scars,
And say, ‘These wounds I had on Nobby’s day.’ 
Old cooks forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But she’ll remember with a flood of talk
What feats you did that day.”

Nobby licked his face enthusiastically.