Outside his own door, Forsyth leaned against the wall and bowed before a paroxysm of laughter as a reed before the gale. Then he pulled himself together and sought the switchboard. “Put my room through to Mr. Maple’s and ring them both up. Then plug me in. I want to overhear.” “Very good, sir.” After a moment’s interval— “Er—er—hullo,” said Giles, wiping the sweat from his face. “Hullo.” “Is—is that you, Gill?” said Katharine tremulously. “Er—yes, dear. How—how are you?” “Oh, all right, thanks. How—how are you?” “Oh, full of beans, thanks . . .” There was a dreadful silence. Forsyth began to shake with laughter. “Are you there, Gill?”—anxiously. “Yes, dear.” “That’s right. I was afraid we’d been cut off.” “No, I’m here, all right. . . . How—how are you? Oh, I’ve said that, haven’t I? I mean——” “Are you sure you’re all right, Gill?” “Right as rain, dear, right as rain. Why?” “I don’t know,” said Katharine. “I thought you sounded—er—not quite yourself.” “Well, I’m not really. I—I had a dream last night.” “Did you? What did you dream?” “I—I forget now,” stammered Giles. “But—you know. It’s sort of unsettled me.” “Well, do be careful, dear. It worries me to hear you so—so unlike yourself.” “Does it? I mean—am I?” Forsyth writhed. “Gill, what _is_ the matter?” There was another silence. Then— “I say, Kate,” said Giles. “Yes?” “I—I got your letter.” “Did you?” said Katharine. “So did I. I mean——” “Yes?” “What?” said Katharine disconcertingly. “I only said ‘Yes,’” said Giles. “You know. _Pour encourager._ Go on, dear.” His wife braced herself. “Gill.” “Yes, dear?” “I rang you up to——” “Did you?” said Giles. “When?” “_Now._” “Now? Oh, I see. I suppose they said I was out. Never mind.” “But why should they say you were out?” “Well, mainly because,” said Giles, “I don’t happen to be in.” “Gill,” cried his wife, “what on earth d’you mean?” “Don’t ask me,” said Giles desperately. “I’m that badgered and bewildered, I can’t think straight. As I was saying, I rang you up to——” “When?” said Katharine. A choking noise was succeeded by another silence. With his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks, Forsyth clung to his receiver helplessly. At length— “Kate,” said Captain Festival in a hollow voice. “Yes?”—faintly. “Don’t think I’m blaming you, darling, but I rather gather you’re thinking of displacing _Baladeuse_.” “I’m _not_!” shrieked Katharine. “I’m _not_! It’s—it’s all a terrible mistake. I know you’ve heard someone bleating, but don’t think——”