He felt that he had had all he wanted of the butler's conversation. Even of the most stimulating society enough is enough, and to Soapy about half a minute of Sturgis seemed a good medium dose for an adult. He would have fled, but there was nowhere to go. He remained where he was, making his expression as forbidding as possible. A motion-picture director could have read that expression like a book. Soapy was registering deep disinclination to talk about rabbits. But for the moment, it appeared, Sturgis had put rabbits on one side. Other matters occupied his mind. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but have you seen Mr. John?" "Mr. who?" "Mr. John, sir." So deep was Soapy's preoccupation that for a moment the name conveyed nothing to him. "Mr. Carmody's nephew, sir. Mr. Carroll." "Oh? Yes, he went off in his car with my daughter." "Will he be gone long, do you think, sir?" Soapy could answer that one. "Yes," he said. "He won't be back for some time." "You see, when I took Mr. Carmody his drink, sir, he told me to tell Bolt, the chauffeur, to give me the ticket." "What ticket?" asked Soapy wearily. The butler was only too glad to reply. He had feared that this talk of theirs might be about to end all too quickly, and these explanations helped to prolong it. And, now that he knew that there was no need to go on searching for John, his time was his own again. "It was a ticket for a bag which Mr. Carmody sent Bolt to leave at the cloak room at Shrub Hill station, in Worcester, this morning, sir. I now ascertain from Bolt that he gave it to Mr. John to give to Mr. Carmody." "What!" cried Soapy. "And Mr. John has apparently gone off without giving it to him. However, no doubt it is quite safe. Did you make satisfactory progress with the hutch, sir?" "Eh?" "The robert hutch, sir." "What?" A look of concern came into Sturgis's face. His companion's manner was strange. "Is anything the matter, sir?" "Eh?" "Shall I bring you something to drink, sir?" Few men ever become so distrait that this particular question fails to penetrate. Soapy nodded feverishly. Something to drink was precisely what at this moment he felt he needed most. Moreover, the process of fetching it would relieve him for a time, at least, of the society of a butler who seemed to combine in equal proportions the outstanding characteristics of a porous plaster and a gadfly. "Yes," he replied. "Very good, sir." III