It was not Eves’s way to keep his mouth shut, and he expatiated on the evils of talkativeness all the way to the workshop, where the friends parted. The same topic was revived when they met at the "Three Tuns" for lunch. "Wilkins was unusually amiable to-day," Templeton happened to remark. "He seemed quite pleased that the nozzle is a success." "Were you juggins enough to tell him that?" asked Eves with a touch of scorn. "Well, what else could I do when he asked me point-blank? I didn’t mention it first." "I suppose he heard of it from the postman or from Farmer West, or from any other inhabitant of this gossiping old monkey-house. Wilkins is the last man who ought to know anything about your private affairs. Upon my word, I think I’d better get demobilised and take a job as your keeper. You’re not fit to be trusted alone." After lunch Eves accompanied Templeton to the shop, and watched over him with fatherly interest through the afternoon. He was amused to see Templeton from time to time break off his work on a purely mechanical job, hurry to his coat hanging on a peg, extract the specification from his breast-pocket, and make some trifling alteration in text or diagram. "Is that the result of what they call unconscious cerebration?" he asked. "Or can your mighty mind attend to two things at once? You’re a wonder, Bobby, and I hope I shall live long enough to write you a thumping obituary notice." *II* Next day, immediately after breakfast, Eves went off on his own devices, and did not see Templeton again until supper-time. "You look rather down in the mouth. Bob," he said. "Anything wrong?" "I’m a bit worried," Templeton replied. "I don’t think I’m naturally suspicious——" "Rather not! You’re as innocent as a babe. Any old diddler could suck you in. But what’s happened?" "This afternoon I had to go out for an hour or so to try a car. Wilkins was away, so I left the shop closed. While I was running the car I had an idea for my specification and when I got back I took it out of my coat to alter it. And I found this." He handed Eves the paper. "Well? It’s the same old thing—same old rigmarole, isn’t it?" "That smudge of ink!" "Your elbow—but, of course, it’s all in pencil. You don’t mean— "As you say, it’s all in pencil. It hasn’t been near ink, so far as I know. At any rate, that smudge wasn’t there this morning." Eves whistled. "Wilkins knew about your specification, of course; everybody knows everything in this Arcadia. My prophetic soul! He’s been copying your draft, Bob, and being an untidy penman, left his mark behind. He must have been uncommon slippy to copy it all in an hour, though, with all these erasures and interlinings. Any one else got a key of the shop?" "No one, so far as I know."