ise. 'E's got a lot of pals about 'ere. I shouldn't
be surprised if that was the cause of his illness. Good-arternoon,
sir. I'll tell 'im you called."

The foreman shut the door in Mr. Greenhales' face, and for the third
time that afternoon anger strode down the drive of Holmleigh.

In the hall the much-wanted Bindle was listening intently to his
foreman.

"You seem to be holdin' a levvy to-day, Bindle. Seem to 'ave a lot o'
blinkin' pals 'ere, too! Didn't know you was a society man, Bindle.
They're all so fond of you, so it 'pears. 'Adn't you better give up
this line o' business, you with your gif's, and take to squirin' it?
You'd look fine follerin' the 'ounds, you would. Now, it's about time
you decided wot you really are. Two hours you take for yer dinner, an'
spend the arternoon receivin' callers, me a-openin' the scarlet door.
Now you get back to the brilliant furniture removin', and give up yer
stutterin' ambitions. If I was you----"

Bindle was never to know what the foreman would do if in his place. At
that moment a loud peal at the bell caused the foreman to pause. He
gazed from Bindle to the door, from the door to Bindle, and back again
to the door. During the two seconds that his superior's eyes were off
him Bindle slipped stealthily away.

The foreman went slowly to the door and opened it. He found there a
middle-aged, rather stout man, dressed in tweeds, with trousers clipped
for cycling. Behind him he held a bicycle. It was Sergeant Wrannock.

The foreman eyed the caller aggressively, his hands moving
convulsively. There was that about his appearance which caused his
caller to step suddenly back. The bicycle overturned with a clatter,
and the sergeant sat down with great suddenness on the front wheel.

The foreman eyed him indifferently. The tears were streaming from the
sergeant's eyes, for he had sat with considerable force upon one of the
coasters. When he had picked himself up and replaced the bicycle the
foreman spoke.

"If you've come 'ere to show me that trick, you've bloomin' well wasted
yer time. You ain't no Cinquevalli, ole son! If, 'owever, you're
a-lookin' for a bald little man with a green apron and a red nose"--the
sergeant's eyes brightened beneath the tears--"well, 'e's bin took ill,
an' 'is mother's took 'im 'ome.

"Now you'd better go, cockie, 'fore I set the dog on yer. I'm pretty
damn well sick of the 'sight of yer, comin' 'ere with yer bicycle
tricks