terest.

"I'm most awfully obliged," said Buz in a very low voice; "I do feel
such an ass lying here."

There was a murmur of voices in the passage. The front door was closed
with quiet decorum and the little sitting-room grew darker. Two big
tears rolled over and Buz sniffed helplessly, for his handkerchief was
in the pocket of the jacket lately worn with such gay impudence by Miss
Elsmaria Buttermish.

CHAPTER XIII

THE THIN END

Eloquent rode the bicycle left outside by Miss Buttermish, rode
carefully, bearing the suit-case in his left hand. The village was
quite deserted and he reached the great gates of the Manor House
unchallenged. The gates stood open and he entered the dark shadowy
drive without having encountered a living soul. Lights gleamed from
the lower windows of the house, but the porch was in darkness. He rang
loudly, and Fusby, the old manservant, switched on the light as he
opened the door and revealed a square, oak-panelled room and the
warning cards. The inner door leading to the hall was closed, but the
sound of cheerful voices reached Eloquent.

Fusby stood expectant, and in spite of his imperturbable and almost
benedictory manner he looked mildly surprised.

"Is Mrs Ffolliot at home?" Eloquent asked rather breathlessly.

"She is, sir," Fusby answered, but in a tone that subtly conveyed the
unspoken "to some people," fixing his eyes the while on the suitcase.

"Do you think she could speak to me here?" Eloquent continued humbly.

"I think not, sir; the mistress at present is dispensing tea to the
fam'ly. She does not as a rule see people at the door. Can I take a
message?"

"I fear I must disturb her," said Eloquent, conscious all the time that
Fusby's mild gaze was concentrated on the suit-case. "One of her
sons"--for the life of him he couldn't remember the boy's ridiculous
name--"has broken his arm."

"Master Buz, sir?" asked Fusby, quite unmoved by the intelligence;
"it's generally 'im."

"Yes, Master Buz, and he asked me to give you this. . . . It's some
things of his. I'll send for the suit-case--put it out of the way
somewhere--he was dressed up . . . these are the clothes----"

"He will 'ave 'is frolic," Fusby murmured indulgently; "a very
light-'earted young gentleman he is--step this way, please, sir."

Fusby opened a door behind him, and announced in the voice of one
issuing an edict, "Mr Gallup."

There seemed to Eloquent crowds of people in the ha