"All right, take 'em to 'im. 'E can 'ave 'em, for all I care. Look 'ere, 'ave you got any ordinary clothes or not?" "Suits less magnificent have I many, O Master. But as for the hat called pot, or the spat, I have no knowledge of such. Nevertheless...." "I see what it is," said Alf disgustedly. "It's just Eustace. 'E's mucked it again. We'll just 'ave to send for 'im an' tell 'im what sort of a rig-out we want. Pity 'e can't never get nothing right the first time, ain't it?" He sat down on his diamond-studded coverlet and once again summoned his sorely tried familiar. CHAPTER XI THE VICAR'S WIFE OUTRAGED "Well, Julian," said Mrs. Davies in her most determined tones. "I think it's your plain duty to call at once." The Vicar of Denmore sighed, and laid down his paper on the breakfast-table. "But, my dear," he protested mildly, "we know nothing of the new people at the Manor. We don't even know if they have taken possession. If it is true that extensive alterations are going on, they can hardly be there yet. Why, it's only a week since they took the place." "Julian," returned his wife, "there is no use in arguing the point. It's quite time that all the mystery about the Manor was cleared up. You know I hate gossip...." She paused. The vicar took a drink of coffee. "You know," resumed Mrs. Davies very distinctly, "that I hate gossip...." "Of course, of course, my dear," agreed the vicar hastily. "But it is impossible not to know that the whole neighborhood is talking. I'm not asking you to pay a ceremonious call. If the people turn out to be German spies.... The feeling of everybody is that the sooner somebody finds out just what is happening at the Manor, the better. And you've got the best excuse." Mr. Davies got up and walked about the room. "Really, my dear," he said at last in what was (for him) quite a fierce tone, "if you're asking me to do this out of mere idle curiosity...." "Idle fiddlesticks! Do remember there's a war on, Julian. When a great big house like that suddenly becomes full of people from nobody knows where, who never seem to come out of the grounds, and who certainly don't deal with the local tradesmen, what is one to think?" "That they import their provisions from London," suggested the vicar. "But they don't. The only London van that comes here is Harrods'--the FitzPeters deal there, but I know they don't call at the Manor." "Did Miss FitzPeter tell you that?" "No. She doesn't seem very interested in the concerns of the village. She could or would tell me nothing.... But I stopped Harrods' van in the village and asked the driver. The whole business is most suspicious. So we think--I think that it's quite time you went up to the Manor and found out whether they're going to use the Manor pew." The vicar sighed deeply.