"P.S. I enclose a check for the Greenlawn Cemetery people. I wish you'd see that they keep the hedge properly trimmed around my father's plot and renew the dead sod where needed. I noticed that one of the trees was also dead. Have them put in another and keep the flowers in good shape. I don't want anything dead around that lot. "L.M." When he had sealed and directed his letter he looked around the silent room. Shiela was sewing by the window. Portlaw, back to the fire, stood staring out at the rain; Lady Tressilvain, a cigarette between her thin lips, wandered through the work-shop and loading-room where, from hooks in the ceiling, a thicket of split-cane rod-joints hung, each suspended by a single strong thread. The loading-room was lined with glass-faced cases containing fowling-pieces, rifles, reels, and the inevitable cutlery and ironmongery associated with utensils for the murder of wild creatures. Tressilvain sat at the loading-table to which he was screwing a delicate vise to hold hooks; for Malcourt had given him a lesson in fly-tying, and he meant to dress a dozen to try on Painted Creek. So he sorted snell and hook and explored the tin trunk for hackles, silks, and feathers, up to his bony wrists in the fluffy heap of brilliant plumage, burrowing, busy as a burying beetle under a dead bird. Malcourt dropped his letter into the post-box, glanced uncertainly in the direction of his wife, but as she did not lift her head from her sewing, turned with a shrug and crossed the floor to where Portlaw stood scowling and sucking at his empty pipe. "Look at that horrid little brother-in-law of mine with his ferret eyes and fox face, fussing around those feathers--as though he had just caught and eaten the bird that wore them!" Portlaw continued to scowl. "Suppose we take them on at cards," suggested Malcourt. "No, thanks." "Why not?" "They've taken a thousand out of me already." Malcourt said quietly: "You've never before given such a reason for discontinuing card-playing. What's your real reason?" Portlaw was silent. "Did you quit a thousand to the bad, Billy?" "Yes, I did." "Then why not get it back?" "I don't care to play," said Portlaw shortly. The eyes of the two men met. "Are you, by any chance, afraid of our fox-faced guest?" asked Malcourt suavely. "I don't care to give any reason, I tell you." "That's serious; as there could be only one reason. Did you think you noticed--anything?" "I don't know what I think.... I've half a mind to stop payment on that check--if that enlightens you any." "There's an easier way," said Malcourt coolly. "You know how it is in sparring? You forecast what your opponent is going to do and you stop him before he does it." "I'm not _certain_ that he--did it," muttered Portlaw. "I can't afford to make a mistake by kicking out your brother-in-law." "Oh, don't mind me--"