The gardener did not reply, but stood staring at the lilac-bush below Joe Petty's face. He was a thin man, rather like an old horse. “Do you think we can win this war?” resumed Joe. “Dunno,” replied the gardener apathetically. “We seem to be goin' back nicely all the time.” Joe wagged his head. “You've 'it it,” he said. And, jerking his head back towards the room behind him, “Guv'nor's got it now.” “What?” “The new disease.” “What new disease?” “Wy, the Run-abaht-an-tell-'em-'ow-to-do-it.” “Ah!” “'E's copped it fair. In bed.” “You don't say!” “Not 'alf!” Joe sank his voice still lower. “Wot'll you bet me I don't ketch it soon?” The gardener uttered a low gurgle. “The cats 'ave been in that laylock,” he replied, twisting off a broken branch. “I'll knock off now for a bit o' lunch.” But at that moment the sound of a voice speaking as it might be from a cavern, caused him and Joe Petty to stare at each other as if petrified. “Wot is it?” whispered Joe at last. The gardener jerked his head towards a window on the ground floor. “Someone in pain,” he said. “Sounds like the Guv'nor's voice.” “Ah!” said the gardener. “Alf a mo'!” And, drawing in his head, Joe peered through the curtains. The bed was empty and the door open. “Watch it! 'E's loose!” he called to the gardener, and descended the stairs at a run. In fact, Mr. Lavender had come out of his coma at the words, “D'you think we can win this war?” And, at once conscious that he had not read the morning papers, had got out of bed. Sallying forth just as he was he had made his way downstairs, followed by Blink. Seeing the journals lying on the chest in the hall, he took all five to where he usually went at this time of the morning, and sat down to read. Once there, the pain he was in, added to the disorder occasioned in his brain by the five leaders, caused him to give forth a summary of their contents, while Blink pressed his knees with her chin whenever the rising of his voice betokened too great absorption, as was her wont when she wanted him to feed her. Joe Petty joined the gardener in considerable embarrassment. “Shan't I not 'alf cop it from the Missis?” he murmured. “The door's locked.”