The ironmaster asked no more questions; that was good enough for him, he said, and went off to tell a last lie to his wife, with the increasing confidence of one gradually mastering the difficulties of an uncongenial game. He felt also that a happy issue was in sight, and after that he could tell the truth and liberate his soul. He was pathetically sanguine of the solution vicariously propounded by Eugene Thrush, and prepared to rejoice in a discovery which would have filled him with dismay and chagrin if he had not been subconsciously prepared for something worse. It never occurred to Mr. Upton to question the man’s own belief in the theory he had advanced; but Lettice did so the moment she had the visitor to herself in the smoking-room, where it fell to her to do certain honours _vice_ Horace, luckily engaged at the works. “And do you believe this astounding theory, Mr. Thrush?” Thrush eyed her over his tumbler’s rim, but completed his draught before replying. “It’s not my province to believe or to disbelieve, Miss Upton; my job is to prove things one way or the other.” “Then I’ll tell you just one thing for your guidance: my brother is absolutely incapable of the conduct you ascribe to him between you.” Thrush did not look as though he were being guided by anybody or anything, beyond the dictates of his own appetites, as he sat by the window of the restaurant car, guzzling new potatoes and such Burgundy as could be had in a train. But he was noticeably less garrulous than usual, and his companion also had very little to say until the train was held up inexplicably outside Willesden, when he began to fume. “I never knew such a thing on this line before,” he complained; “it’s all the harder luck, for I never was on such an errand before, and it’ll just make the difference to me.” “You’ll have time,” said Thrush, consulting his watch as the train showed signs of life at last. “Not for what I want to do,” said Mr. Upton firmly. “I want to shake that man’s hand, and to hear from his own lips about my boy!” “I’m not sure that you’ll find him at home,” Thrush said, after a contemplative pause. “I’ll take my chance of that.” “He said something about their both going out of town to-day—meaning niece and self. I heard her playing just before I left, and that seemed to remind him of it.” “Well, Thrush, I mean to risk it.” “And losing the train?” “I can motor down to Plymouth; there’s plenty of time. I might take him with me, as well as you?” “Better,” said Thrush, after another slight pause. “I’d rather you didn’t count on me for that trip, Mr. Upton.” “Not count on you”? “One of us will be quite enough.” “Have you some other case to shove in front of mine, then?” cried the ironmaster, touched on the old raw spot. “I shouldn’t put it like that, Mr. Upton.” “All right! I’ll take your man Mullins instead; but I’ll try my luck at that German doctor’s first,” he growled, determined to have his own way in something.