“I’ll hunt him up and send him to you,” he announced with surprising conciseness; and he left the room without further talk. While they were waiting for Stenness the door opened and Arthur Hawkhurst came in. Rather to Wendover’s surprise he showed no trace of the ill-feeling which he had displayed so strongly on the previous night. Instead, he seemed rather shamefaced; and he opened in an unexpected vein. “I behaved like a young cub last night, Sir Clinton,” he admitted frankly. “I daresay I said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have said. But you know quite well”—his teeth showed in an engaging smile—“I was badly upset. Anyone might be, I think. Poor Sylvia! I’m deuced fond of her, you know. She’s about the only person in the world that matters a tinker’s curse to me. So naturally I wasn’t quite level-headed; and I daresay I said things I shouldn’t have said.” “That’s all right,” Sir Clinton assured him. “I understood perfectly how you felt. Forget it, and don’t worry. You’ve trouble enough without bothering about trifles just now.” Arthur nodded a gloomy acquiescence. “Have you any notion why the thing was done?” Sir Clinton was careful not to give a direct answer. “We’re doing our best.” Arthur’s eye lighted up. “I wish you’d let me take a hand. Perhaps I could be of some use?” “Not just at present, I’m afraid.” Arthur took the rejection badly. “Nothing to hinder my working on my own, then, is there? You can’t prevent that. And if I come across the brute you needn’t expect to be allowed to butt in then, you know. I’ll tackle him myself. Hanging’s too good for him.” “I agree with you there,” Sir Clinton said unguardedly. Then he added with a faint smile: “We’re speaking quite unofficially, of course.” Arthur looked up suspiciously. “I’m not quite sure what you mean. But what _I_ mean’s quite plain and can be put into plain English. If I can lay my hands on the man who tried to murder Sylvia, he’ll wish for a decent hanging before I’m done with him. I’ll . . .” “That’s enough, Mr. Hawkhurst,” Sir Clinton interrupted sharply. “We don’t want to hear about it.” Arthur’s temper boiled up at the words. Wendover, glancing at his face, saw the features contorted in hardly-restrained fury. With an effort, the boy fought down his anger until he could speak. “If anything happens to Sylvia I’ll get the brute yet; and then he’ll wish he’d never been born. That’s that!” He swung round on his heel and left the room. Sir Clinton sighed slightly as the door closed. “Oh, Lord!” he exclaimed softly, as if to himself. “I hadn’t reckoned on _that_. This is growing devilishly complicated.” Wendover had pricked up his ears. “What’s the trouble now?” Sir Clinton seemed to realise that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “It’s another factor that I hadn’t allowed for,” he admitted. But he refused to divulge anything further; and Wendover had to content himself with the cryptic phrase.