A good conscience is a priceless possession. Sir Evelyn had not broken the laws of his country by bringing into it forbidden things. With all his admiration for the smugglers of the eighteenth century, whose lives he studied, it would have been impossible for him to imitate them. Nor would he willingly have associated with a man who smuggled anything more than a box of cigars after a trip to the Channel Islands. The accusation of the egregious Mr. East left Sir Evelyn untroubled. Some incredibly absurd mistake had been made for which in due time an apology would be forthcoming. It was impossible that a pageant, in itself a highly commendable thing—a pageant under the patronage of a bishop, of a judge, of a man who had been Prime Minister, of Sir Evelyn Dent—should have been in reality a smuggling raid. Was he to suspect Mrs. Eames, a transparently honest though too talkative lady, of being a smuggler? And she had managed the whole affair from the beginning. Could he think that James Hinton, the very type of superior upper servant, that Linker, a most respectable shopkeeper with a taste for politics, had deliberately planned a disgraceful fraud? The idea was preposterous. And had not his own nephew, Lord Colavon, to whom the petty gains of illicit trading could be no temptation—had he not been in command of—had he not actually steered the lugger?

Someone in a Government office in London had blundered badly, and the ridiculous, tremulous Mr. East with his ultimatum and his threats could be forgotten as quickly as possible.

Nevertheless, Sir Evelyn could not quite forget Mr. East, and after a while he rose and rang the bell.

"If Lord Colavon is anywhere about the place," he said, "ask him to be so good as to come and speak to me here for a few minutes."

A servant searched for Lord Colavon in the house. A gardener sought him in the grounds. A man who cleaned the boots and carried coal reported that the Pallas Athene was not in the garage. It was surmised that Lord Colavon had not yet returned from the railway station to which he had conveyed the judge.

"Very well," said Sir Evelyn, "as soon as he does return ask him to come here."

The morning passed, not unpleasantly for Sir Evelyn, who found much to interest him in the press-cuttings. Luncheon-time came and he ate it alone. Lord Colavon had not yet returned and the Pallas Athene was not yet in the garage. The servant, surmising again, suggested that his lordship might have gone to Hailey Compton to visit the young ladies. Sir Evelyn thought this very likely, and ate his luncheon peacefully. Tea-time came, and after that dinner, but Lord Colavon did not appear. Sir Evelyn was slightly annoyed but not much surprised. His nephew was a young man of irregular habits.

The servant, bringing whisky and a siphon into the study at half-past nine, ventured on a further guess.

"His lordship's car may have broken down somewhere."

This, too, seemed probable.

"Very unreliable, these high-powered cars," said the servant. "So I've always been led to believe."

"Don't sit up for him," said Sir Evelyn. "He's not likely to return to-night. I shall go to bed as usual."

He did, at the sober hour of eleven o'clock. He was by that time seriously annoyed and a little uneasy—not because he feared that any harm had come to his nephew. Whatever might have happened to the car, Jimmy himself was sure to be safe. Accidents do not happen to that kind of young man, though they ought to. Yet, Sir Evelyn reflected, it would have been satisfactory to have heard him deny—— No. It would be ridiculous to expect a formal denial of Mr. East's accusation. It would have been satisfactory to have laughed over the matter with his nephew. To make jokes about it and hear jokes made before going to bed. Yet, in spite of annoyance, Sir Evelyn slept quietly that night.

Next morning at eight o'clock he was called and his letters laid beside him. Sir Evelyn glanced at them as he poured out his tea. There was a thick bundle of press-cuttings, more comments on the pageant. There were several circulars. There were one or two bills. There was just one envelope which looked as if it contained a letter. It came from a very important political personage, one of those gentlemen whose names do not appear prominently in the newspapers, who seldom make speeches on full-dress occasions, but are powerful in the councils of parties and have a great deal to do with the administration of funds.

Sir Evelyn opened the envelope with a vague feeling of uneasiness. The premonition was justified at once. The letter was startling and disquieting.

Sir Evelyn, without waiting to drink his cup of tea, rose and rang the bell.

"Is Lord Colavon in the house?"

"His lordship," said the servant, "is at present in bed. I understand that he returned about six o'clock this morning. The under housemaid who was sweeping the hall at the time informed me that his lordship——"

"Send him to me at once," said Sir Evelyn.

"Very good, sir."

But he did not do so. He returned five minutes later to say that he found it quite impossible to waken Lord Colavon.

"I used every endeavour, sir, but his lordship is in a very sound sleep."

"Use more endeavours," said Sir Evelyn. "Pour cold water over him if necessary, but bring him here."

This time the man was successful. Jimmy, yawning and dishevelled, walked into his uncle's room in his pyjamas.

"Read that," said Sir Evelyn, handing him the letter.

Jimmy, rubbing his eyes occasionally, read it through.

"Now," said Sir Evelyn, "tell me plainly, is there anything in it?"

"If you mean the cave, Uncle Evie, there isn't. Not a blessed thing except stones. They've had three policemen watching the entrance, turn about, since yesterday, but there isn't a thing in it except stones."

"Are you perfectly certain about that?"

"Dead sure thing," said Jimmy. "They can search till they're blue in the face. I'm told that they're going to search to-day. But they won't find anything. If I were you, Uncle Evie—of course, it's not my business to offer advice to you or any other big pot like the johnny who wrote this letter. But, if I were in your shoes or his, I'd tell the Customs people to search and be damned. In fact I rather thought of doing that exact thing myself, meeting them at Hailey Compton when they turn up and then gloating afterwards. I dare say it would be beneath your dignity to gloat, except in private. But if you care to run down with me this morning and watch this blessed search of theirs, I can promise that you'll be in a position to rub it in afterwards."

"I won't do that," said Sir Evelyn. "But——"

"I hardly thought you would. That sort of thing wouldn't suit your style."

"But I'll wire a definite denial of the whole story to London," said Sir Evelyn, "if you give me your assurance that I can do so."

"Pitch it as strong as you like. Pithy and straight from the shoulder. Not too long. It only looks as if you'd something to conceal if you go spreading yourself over five bob's worth of telegram. My idea would be 'Damned lies,' or words to that effect."

"I hope you really are perfectly certain, Jimmy," said Sir Evelyn. "This is a serious business. If it turns out afterwards that you're mistaken—if they find so much as one case of brandy——"

"They won't," said Jimmy. "I'll make over the Pallas Athene to an idiot asylum for the use of the inmates if they find anything worse than a half smoked cigarette in that cave."

"You'd know—you'd be certain to know if——"

"I steered the old lugger myself," said Jimmy, "and I know all there is to know about what happened."