“Early on Sunday morning. Told to go. I was fairly flabbergasted. What the deuce is a man to do? Where’s he to go? Sunday? One doesn’t go to places, Sunday morning. There I’d been sleeping like a lamb all night and suddenly in came Laxton and said, ‘Look here, you know,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to oblige me and pack your bag and go. Now.’ ‘Why?’ said I. ‘Because you’ve driven the Lord Chancellor stark staring mad!’” “But how?” asked the Professor, almost angrily, “how? I don’t see it. Why should he ask you to go?” “_I_ don’t know!” cried Captain Douglas. “Yes, but—!” said the Professor, protesting against the unreasonableness of mankind. “I’d had a word or two with him in the train. Nothing to speak of. About occupying two corner seats—always strikes me as a cad’s trick—but on my honour I didn’t rub it in. And then he got it into his head we were laughing at him at dinner—we were a bit, but only the sort of thing one says about anyone—way he works his eyebrows and all that—and then he thought I was ragging him.... I _don’t_ rag people. Got it so strongly he made a row that night. Said I’d made a ghost slap him on his back. Hang it!—what _can_ you say to a thing like that? In my room all the time.” “You suffer for the sins of your brother,” said Mrs. Bowles. “Heavens!” cried the captain, “I never thought of that! Perhaps he mistook me....” He reflected for a moment and continued his narrative. “Then in the night, you know, he heard noises.” “They always do,” said the Professor nodding confirmation. “Couldn’t sleep.” “A sure sign,” said the Professor. “And finally he sallied out in the early morning, caught the butler in one of the secret passages—” “How did the butler get into the secret passage?” “Going round, I suppose. Part of his duties.... Anyhow he gave the poor beggar an awful doing—awful—_brutal_—black eye,—all that sort of thing; man much too respectful to hit back. Finally declared I’d been getting up a kind of rag,—squaring the servants to help and so forth.... Laxton, I fancy, half believed it.... Awkward thing, you know, having it said about that you ragged the Lord Chancellor. Makes a man seem a sort of mischievous idiot. Injures a man. Then going away, you see, seems a kind of admission....” “Why did you go?” “Lucy,” said the captain compactly. “Hysterics.” “Shonts would have burst,” he added, “if I hadn’t gone.” Madeleine was helpful. “But you’ll have to do _something_ further,” she said. “What is one to _do_?” squealed the captain. “The sooner you get the Lord Chancellor certified a lunatic,” said the Professor soundly, “the better for your professional prospects.” “He went on pretty bad after I’d gone.” “You’ve heard”