"Was the little mishap to our gear." He raised his voice: "Ferguson! I'd like a word with you if you please." The sailing-master jumped at the sound of the voice as though it had shot a projectile into his back. However, he rose at once and came forward in his usual, brisk, stiff way, halting before the two men with a salute. Varney eyed him inscrutably. "I believe you were in town for a while this morning, Ferguson?" "Yes, sir, I was." "While there did you chance to see anything of an elderly gentleman, a stranger here, by the name of Higginson?" Though he had the look of being braced for trouble, the man changed color at the direct question, and his eyes instantly shifted. With an evident effort he recaptured something like his usual steadiness and spoke in a voice of elaborate thought fulness. "Higginson? No, sir. I know no one of that name." "Ah? I thought not. I asked on the mere chance. And oh, Ferguson." "Sir?" "I have just been down to look at the damaged machinery. Ignorant of these matters myself, I can naturally make little of it. You will prepare a written report for Mr. Carstairs, explaining in detail the nature of the accident, and in particular just how it took place." "Very good, sir." "And--oh, Ferguson." "Yes, sir?" "As the--er--mishap appears to be so serious, I think it best to have an expert from town advise with me before the work of repairing begins. You will therefore leave matters just as they are until I instruct you otherwise." "Oh--very good, sir." Peter turned his dissatisfied eyes from the back of the retreating sailing-master to Varney. "What better proof d'you want than the rogue's face? Why didn't you fire him on the spot?" "I neither hire nor fire here," said Varney. "These are Mr. Carstairs's employees. He will have to deal with them as he thinks best." He rose immediately and put on his hat. "With Mr. Higginson, however," he mused, starting for the stair, "the case is altogether different." "Exactly," said Peter with great heartiness. As one man they descended the stairs, crossed the battered landing and struck rapidly up the woodland path for Remsen Street and the town. As they walked, Varney silently condemned the unfailing genius of the Irish for intruding themselves into all the trouble that hove upon the horizon. It was with acute pleasure that he recalled, before long, his friend's engagement for half-past five. For he himself had but three hours left in Hunston that day, and he had an urgent use for them--beyond even Mr. Higginson. "I confess once more," said Peter, tramping heavily, "that this chap is too many for me. I don't seem to grasp his game." "And you call yourself a conspirator, Peter! Why, this is ABC." "All right. I'm listening. Spell it out for me."