es," allowed Christopher with the ghost of a smile, "it's lamentably
selfish of you, but I realise the importance. Shall we go by rail
to-night?"

"But Leamington?"

"Will the man run away?"

"My father might have been interested to see the papers."

"You dear old fraud," said Christopher with an odd little catch in his
voice, "do you suppose St. Michael won't see through you? Is it like
you to travel this distance to see doubtful records when you won't go
to London to see genuine ones? Why did not St. Michael write to me?"

"Caesar would not let him."

"He must be ill."

"He is not, on my word, Christopher. He is just worried to the verge
of distraction by your being here. It seems ridiculous, but so it
is."

"Why didn't you write yourself?"

Nevil considered the question gravely.

"Why didn't I write? Oh, I know. I only thought of it this morning and
it seemed quicker to come."

"Or wire?" persisted Christopher.

"It would have cost such a lot to explain," he answered candidly. "I
did think of that and started to send one. Then I found I had only
twopence in my pocket. If I had sent anyone else to the office
everyone would have known I was sending for you and Caesar would have
been more annoyed than ever."

"I quite see. What did Mrs. Aston say?"

"I think she said you'd be sure to come."

Christopher nodded. "Yes, I'll go by mail to-night." Then he shut his
teeth sharply and looked out of the window with a frown, thinking of
the renewed battle of wills to come, and at last said he would go and
find Mr. Masters, since no one appeared to have told him of Nevil's
arrival.

He went straight down the corridor to Peter Masters' room. The owner
was still seated as he had left him, smoking placidly.

"Changed your mind already?" he asked as his guest entered.

"No, not that, but Nevil Aston has come and I must go back with him by
the mail to-night."

"What's up?" The big man sprang to his feet. "Is Aymer ill?"

"No, no. I don't think so. It may be Nevil's fancy. He thinks Aymer
wants me back. Of course it sounds absurd, but Nevil, who won't stir
beyond the garden on his own account, has come all this way to fetch
me to Caesar."

Peter Masters was half-way to the door and tossed a question over his
shoulder curtly.

"Where is he?"

"In the little reception-room."

Christopher followed him down the passage puzzling over this
unexpected behaviour.

Nevil was re-exploring the inaccurate pictur