It was this and the new and alarming scar on the Queen Elizabeth tower that brought Mr. Beaulieu Plummer post-haste from the estate office up to the house. Mr. Beaulieu Plummer was the Marquis of Cranberry’s estate agent, a man of great natural tact, and charged among other duties with the task of seeing that the Laxtons did not make away with Shonts during the period of their tenancy. He was a sound compact little man, rarely out of extreme riding breeches and gaiters, and he wore glasses, that now glittered with astonishment as he approached Lady Laxton and her band of spade workers. At his approach Mr. Darling attempted to become invisible, but he was unable to do so. “Lady Laxton,” Mr. Beaulieu Plummer appealed, “may I ask—?” “Oh Mr. Beaulieu Plummer, I’m so _glad_ you’ve come. A little boy—suffocating! I can hardly _bear_ it.” “Suffocating!” cried Mr. Beaulieu Plummer, “_where_?” and was in a confused manner told. He asked a number of questions that Lady Laxton found very tiresome. But how did she _know_ the boy was in the secret passage? Of course she knew; was it likely she would do all this if she didn’t know? But mightn’t he have run away? How could he when he was in the secret passages? But why not first scour the countryside? By which time he would be smothered and starved and dead!... They parted with a mutual loss of esteem, and Mr. Beaulieu Plummer, looking very serious indeed, ran as fast as he could straight to the village telegraph-office. Or to be more exact, he walked until he thought himself out of sight of Lady Laxton and then he took to his heels and ran. He sat for some time in the parlour post office spoiling telegraph forms, and composing telegrams to Sir Peter Laxton and Lord Cranberry. He got these off at last, and then drawn by an irresistible fascination went back to the park and watched from afar the signs of fresh activities on the part of Lady Laxton. He saw men coming from the direction of the stables with large rakes. With these they dragged the ornamental waters. Then a man with a pick-axe appeared against the skyline and crossed the roof in the direction of the clock tower, bound upon some unknown but probably highly destructive mission. Then he saw Lady Laxton going off to the gardens. She was going to console Mrs. Darling in her trouble. This she did through nearly an hour and a half. And on the whole it seemed well to Mr. Beaulieu Plummer that so she should be occupied.... It was striking five when a telegraph boy on a bicycle came up from the village with a telegram from Sir Peter Laxton. “Stop all proceedings absolutely,” it said, “until I get to you.”