_The Sunday Courier_ and _The Daily Courier_ were as brothers having one father, Lord Lappinwick. What _The Sunday Courier_ said on Sunday _The Daily Courier_ said on Monday, and what _The Daily Courier_ said on Saturday _The Sunday Courier_ repeated with admiration on Sunday. _The Daily Courier_ was now busy repeating its brother’s observations of the day before, with added epithets and a few fresh facts. These latter did not amount to much, being merely the brilliant discoveries and deductions of Inspector Cottingham of the day before, and the story of them only confirmed Mr. Priestley’s own theory. They had furnished enough conversation to last throughout breakfast, but, speculation tending to move in an endless circle, were now exhausted. In the meantime Laura held her curiosity as best she could, till twelve o’clock. An hour before that time she looked up from her work. “Do you—do you think I might be spared now to go out and do that shopping?” she asked, with charming diffidence. “God bless my soul, yes!” exclaimed Mr. Priestley, full of remorse. “Do you know, I’d forgotten all about it. Go and get your hat on at once, my dear; you’ve got two hours before lunch.” Laura went. “Here’s the hundred pounds,” said Mr. Priestley when she returned, and stuffed a bundle of notes in her hand. Laura attempted to thank him, but was cut short. “Yes, yes,” he said, much embarrassed. “That’s all right. And—and you’ll be back for lunch.” Laura smiled at the indifferently concealed anxiety in his voice. “Yes, Uncle Matthew, I’ll be back; or soon after, at any rate. I’m not going to run away. I gave you my word, you know.” “So you did,” said Mr. Priestley. “So you did. Well, good-bye, my dear girl. Get yourself lots of pretty things.” “I will, I promise you. Oh, and I’ve had an idea. I’m going to buy a second-hand trunk and have all the things packed in that. Then it will look to Barker as if it was just my luggage turned up, you see. What do you think of that?” “Excellent!” said the guileless Mr. Priestley with much admiration. “Excellent! Well—er—good-bye, Niece Laura.” “Good-bye, Uncle Matthew,” demurely said Laura, who was not taking any hints to-day. She went. Mr. Priestley found plenty to think about for the next fifty minutes. Then, at ten minutes to twelve, he heard the front door-bell ring, and Barker’s footsteps down the passage a moment later. He wondered idly who had rung. It may be noted that Mr. Priestley did not start guiltily every time a bell rang, nor did he cringe-about the place in constant expectation of a heavy hand on his shoulder. It might have been a mouse he had shot instead of a man for all the guilty starts and cringing that Mr. Priestley performed.