He had other business in Westmarket besides his social duties, which detained him there some hours, but he returned to the bazaar to have a cup of tea before leaving the town. He was resting comfortably in the refreshment marquee, enjoying the band, when a sudden drop in the music caused the voice of someone sitting at a distant table to resound distinctly across the room. Mr. Field would not have noticed his companions, had he not happened to look up hastily and so caught the eye of a young man, one of the group, who was facing him. He recognized him as the countess’s nephew, and saw him give a quick sign to his friend to cease speaking, but not before a few isolated remarks had reached the listener’s ear. He could not follow the whole sentence, but he was sure he heard the name of Judge Simmons mentioned in connection with a certain money affair. There was no doubt about the concluding words--"distinctly shady"--for the band stopped suddenly as they were uttered, and there was nothing to veil the unpleasant insinuation of the phrase. "What possible reason could that young fellow have had in checking his companion when he saw me, unless it was because I was the subject of their conversation, and they did not want me to hear?" So he mused as he absently stirred his tea. The band struck up once more, but to Mr. Field the music this time sounded intolerably harsh and grating. The jingle of the tune set his teeth on edge, and he felt he could endure it no longer. It was a relief when the crowded hall was left behind, and he felt the cool air again upon his brow. It was nearly four o’clock now and the day was closing in. Heavy clouds were massed over the sea, looking black and thundery, and the dust blew in fitful eddies around. "I think we’re driving into a storm, sir," said the chauffeur. The simple words jarred strangely on Mr. Field. "Don’t speak till you’re spoken to," he snapped. "What you have got to do is to attend to your business and not make remarks about the weather." At that moment the motor reached a steep part of the last hill, necessitating dropping into a lower gear. The chauffeur, irritated by the uncourteous taunt, plied pedal and lever with quite uncalled-for vehemence. There was a harsh grinding sound and the car stopped with a sudden jerk. "It’s no use, sir," he said, after a few moments tinkering at the machinery. "The gears are jambed and she won’t move an inch. I’m afraid I’ll have to get her towed home." "Not here a fortnight, and you’ve broken the car already," exclaimed Mr. Field, his fury rising to boiling-point as he realized that he should have to yield to the inevitable and walk ignominiously back to Farncourt. "I give you warning on the spot, and no character; so you may leave when you choose." Discarding his fur coat as too heavy, he turned his back on the damaged vehicle and set out upon the way home.