John felt that his announcement had not made quite the splash it ought to have made in George's deep and stagnant pool. "I don't think you heard what I said," he repeated. "Bertram and Viola--_your_ children--are definitely lost." "I don't expect they are really," said George, soothingly. "No, no, not really. The trouble is that not one single bookie will take on this second-favorite system. Ha-ha--they daren't, the cowards! Don't you bother about the kids; no, no, they'll be all right. They're probably hanging on behind a van--they often do that when I'm out with them, but they always turn up in the end. Yes, I should have made twenty-nine pounds this week." "Look here," said John, severely, "I want you clearly to understand that this is not a simple question of losing them for a few minutes or so. They have been lost now since the Zoo was closed this afternoon, and I am not yet convinced that they are not shut up inside for the night." "Ah, very likely," said George. "That's just the kind of place they might get to." "The prospect of your children's passing the night in the Zoo leaves you unaffected?" John demanded in the tone of an examining counsel. "Oh, they'll have been cleared out by now," said George. "You really mustn't bother yourself about them, old boy." "You have no qualms, George, at the notion of their wandering for hours upon the outskirts of Regent's Park?" "Now don't you worry, John. I'm not going to worry, and I don't want you to worry. Why worry? Depend upon it, you'll find them safe and sound in Church Row when you get back. By the way, is your taxi waiting?" "No, I dismissed it." "I was afraid it might be piling up the twopences. Though I dare say a pyramid of twopences wouldn't bother you, you old plutocrat. Yes, these second favorites...." "Confound the second favorites," John exclaimed. "I want to discuss your children." "You wouldn't, if you were their father. They involve me in far too many discussions. You see, you're not used to children. I am." John's eyes flashed as much as the melancholy illumination permitted; this was the cue for which he had been waiting. "Just so, my dear George. You are used to children: I am not. And that is why I have come to tell you that the police have been instructed to return them, when found, to _you_ and not to me." George blinked in a puzzled way. "To me?" he echoed. "Yes, to you. To their father. Hasn't their luggage arrived? I had it sent back here this morning." "Ah, yes," George said. "Of course! I was rather late getting up this morning. I've been overworking a bit lately, and Karl did mutter something about luggage. Didn't it come in a taxi?" John nodded. "Yes, I remember now, in a prepaid taxi; but as I couldn't remember that I was expecting any luggage, I told Karl to send it back where it came from." "Do you mean to say that you sent their luggage back after I'd taken the trouble to...."