"Mrs. Barraclough," he observed, shaking his head sadly, "I fear I have caught you smoking." Behind the piano Anthony was feverishly extinguishing his pipe with the ball of his thumb. "I smoke all day," replied Mrs. Barraclough. The door opened and Jane came in with an abnormally large whiskey and soda which she nearly dropped at the sight of the visitor. "Oh! Mrs. Barraclough!" said Bolt, pointing an accusing finger. But the old lady was equal to the moment. "And drink," she said, seizing the glass and swallowing an immense gulp that almost paralysed the muscles of her throat. Mr. Bolt smiled cynically and took his gloves from Flora's outstretched hand. "Gloves are so expensive nowadays, are they not?" he asked. "To be frank, Mr. Bolt, I do not wish to discuss with you either gloves or Christianity," said Mrs. Barraclough. "I would be glad if you would kindly leave by the way you came." "I was about to do so, madam, after first thanking you for your hospitality." Maybe it was appreciation of his mother's inflexible bearing that caused Anthony to relax, but whatever the reason the result was disastrous. There was a small table alongside of where he stood hidden upon which was a vase of sweet peas. Anthony's elbow struck and overset it. There was a splash of water and a tinkle of glass. The three women held their breath and Mr. Bolt's eyebrows went up and down twice very quickly. Then he smiled. "Once again allow me to thank you for your hospitality," he said. "Show this person out," said Mrs. Barraclough. And under the escort of Jane and Flora he was peremptorily bustled off the premises. "H'm," said Anthony, coming out from behind the piano. "That was a pity." Mrs. Barraclough was almost in tears. "Do you think he realised you were hidden there?" "Vases don't tumble over by themselves, mother dear, and our friend is not a fool." He tapped his teeth with a thumb nail reflectively. "Yes--yes--yes. We must curtail his activities. Can't have the old viper sending messages. Settle down at the telephone, best of mothers." "I do wish you would not address me as though I were a sitting hen," said Mrs. Barraclough, drawing up a chair to the writing table. "The telephone, mother, and ask for the police station." "But the policeman is sure to be out." "Then talk to his missus." "That would be impossible, dear, Mrs. Brassbound----" But Anthony did not listen to the objection. "Tell old Brassbound," said he, "to run in friend Skypilot if he gravitates near the post office." Mrs. Barraclough picked up the receiver and asked for the police station and while waiting to be connected remarked weakly: "There is no law to prevent people sending telegrams, dear." "Then we must make a few to fit the occasion." "Is that you, Mr. Brassbound?" said the old lady in answer to a voice on the wire. "It's Mrs. Barraclough speaking. I wonder if you would very kindly arrest a clergyman for me."