Then, to his own surprise, as much as to the surprise of the two men waiting, he laughed. For, suddenly, the vision of an old four-wheeled cab, a policeman on the box next the driver, and inside a man sitting very close to a plain-clothes officer, rose before his eyes. He had seen this four-wheeled cab and its occupants on Westminster Bridge the day he and Ruby went to the races. And they had both laughed then at some foolish joke he had made. And so he laughed again now. "Get a taxi-cab, if you can," he said. He put on his hat and coat, drew on a pair of gloves. Then, not out of bravado, but prompted by a sentimental whim, perhaps, he drew one of the roses from the vase and placed it in his button-hole. "I’m ready," he said. "I don’t suppose you’ll want to—to handcuff me?" The officer put his hand on his arm. "I don’t think it will be necessary, sir." They walked downstairs together side by side. CHAPTER IX. A PROPOSAL. The news of his son’s arrest did not reach John Dale at once. Though Rupert could have written or wired to him he naturally refrained from doing so. The longer his father and sister remained in ignorance of the crime of which he was accused, the better! Bad news spreads quickly enough, and he wanted Ruby to remain in ignorance, too. It was fortunate he had burnt her postcard as quickly as he did. He had not answered it, and unless she wrote again when she left Paris he would not know her address. It was from the lips of Sir Reginald Crichton’s son that John Dale eventually learnt of Rupert’s arrest. In Crichton’s mind there was little doubt but that Rupert was guilty of altering the cheque, and he pitied the proud old farmer from the bottom of his heart. For Sir Reginald also had an only son, one in whom all his hopes were centred; he could enter into John Dale’s feelings and he knew how this blow would strike him. So he wrote to his son Jim, who was, fortunately, at Post Bridge Hall on leave, and asked him to break the news as best he could. Though father and son had no secrets from one another, Jim had not yet told his father of his love for Marjorie Dale. He himself knew there were many reasons against a definite announcement of their engagement. He was still young; needless to say, he could not live on his pay, and though his father made him an allowance it barely covered his expenses. Flying was an expensive game, and, like all men attached to the Royal Flying Corps, Jim’s energy and keenness knew no bounds. He was always experimenting, trying new engines, building new machines—giving the benefit of his experience to his corps and to his country.