obber who founded it, has been a rascal. So are you a
rascal, when the opportunity presents itself. We all fight for our own
hand in varying ways. A touch of my ancestry has evolved this little
scheme, whose lamentable failure I deplore. A touch of your ancestry,
my dear Mr. Pratt, would without a doubt induce you to dispose of some
of those wonderful oil shares of yours in a hurry to a poorer man, if
you thought their value was going to decline. Just now I am faced
with failure. I do not lose my temper. I offer you freshly broiled
trout, a delicious salmon, some eggs and bacon, and hot coffee."

Jacob looked at Lord Felixstowe, and Lord Felixstowe looked at him. Up
from the landing stage came Lady Mary, singing gaily.

"What about it, old dear?" Felixstowe asked. "We can catch the
eleven-twenty."

"Call it tribute," the Marquis suggested ingratiatingly, "the tribute
of the beaten foe. My servant shall attend you at the bathroom, Mr.
Pratt. Do not keep us waiting longer than you can help. And remember,
between ourselves--between gentlemen--not a word about the matter to
the Marchioness or Lady Mary."

Breakfast at the Castle was a sufficiently cheerful meal, chiefly
owing to the efforts of Jacob and the Marquis. Mr. Dane Montague came
limping past the windows but made no attempt to join the party.
Hartwell was reported locked in his room, and the Marchioness, who
came a little late, seemed utterly unaware that anything unusual had
happened.

"So glad to see you back again, Mr. Pratt," she murmured. "I trust
that you enjoyed your visit to your friends."

"You are very kind," Jacob replied, a little staggered.

"Mr. Pratt brings us bad news," the Marquis intervened suavely. "He
is compelled to return to London this morning."

"Mary will be very disappointed," the Marchioness observed. "She has
been so looking forward to some more tennis."

"If Mr. Pratt felt able to reconsider his decision," her husband
began--

"Impossible!" Jacob interrupted curtly. "There are considerations," he
added, "which I cannot altogether ignore."

"Bit of an exodus, I should imagine," Felixstowe remarked. "Our friend
Mr. Hartwell was just ringing for a Bradshaw as I came down."

"It is so difficult to amuse guests before the shooting begins," the
Marchioness sighed.

Dauncey ate his breakfast in almost stupefied silence. He found
himself alone with Jacob for a moment in the hall afterwards.

"Have we all gone mad, Jacob?" he a