"No smokin' here, if _you_ please," said Alf Pond sharply. Malcolm Sage returned his pipe to his pocket without comment. "Now, what are you going to do?" There was challenge in Alf Pond's voice as he eyed Malcolm Sage with disfavour. In his world men with bald, conical heads and gold-rimmed spectacles did not count for much. "How many people know of the disappearance?" enquired Malcolm Sage, ignoring the question. "Outside of us here, only Mr. Papwith," was the response. For fully a minute Malcolm Sage did not reply. At length he turned to Mr. Doulton. "Can you arrange to remain here to meet Mr. Papwith?" he enquired. "I propose doing so," was the reply. "You want to find Burns, I suppose?" Malcolm Sage asked of Alf Pond, in low, level tones. Alf Pond and his colleagues eyed him as if he had asked a most astonishing question. "You barmy?" demanded the trainer, putting into words the looks of the others. "You will continue with the day's work as if nothing had happened," continued Malcolm Sage. "No one outside must know that----" "But how the hell are we going to do that with Charley gone?" broke in Alf Pond, taking a step forward with clenched fists. "Your friend here," indicating Kid, "can pose as Burns," was Malcolm Sage's quiet reply, as he looked into the trainer's eye without the flicker of an eyelash. "You, Mr. Doulton, I will ask to remain here with Mr. Papwith until I communicate with you. On no account leave the training-quarters, even if you have to wait here until to-morrow evening." "But----" began Alf Pond; then he stopped and gazed at the sparring-partners, blinking his eyes in stupid bewilderment. "Have I your promise?" enquired Malcolm Sage of Mr. Doulton. "As far as I am concerned, yes," was the response, "and I think I can answer for Papwith. It's very inconvenient, though." "Not so inconvenient as having to explain things at the Olympia to-morrow night," remarked Malcolm Sage drily. "Now," he continued, turning once more to Alf Pond, "I suppose you've all got something on this fight." "Something on it!" cried Alf Pond; then, turning to the sparring-partners, he cried, "He asks if we've got somethink on it. My Gawd!" he groaned, "we got our shirts on it. That's what we got on it, our shirts," and his voice broke in something like a sob. "You had better post someone at the gate to tell all enquirers that Burns is doing well and is confident of winning," said Malcolm Sage to Mr. Doulton, "and keep an eye on the telephone. Tell anyone who rings up the same; in fact"--and he turned to the others--"as far as you are concerned, Burns is still with you. Do you understand?" They looked at one another in a way that was little suggestive of understanding. "Did Burns wear the same clothes throughout the day?" asked Malcolm Sage of the trainer.