“And we couldn’t have had it otherwise,” said Mr. Mortimer, “so that is all there is to it.” “Well, it need make no difference to you,” said Sir Mallaby. “I am sure you will find my nephew Eustace most unobtrusive. He may even be an entertaining companion. I believe he has a nice singing voice. With that and the juggling of our friend here and my sister’s late husband’s orchestrion, you will have no difficulty in amusing yourselves during the evenings. You remember the orchestrion, Sam?” said Sir Mallaby, on whom his son’s silence had been weighing rather heavily for some time. “Yes,” said Sam, and returned to the silence once more. “The late Mr. Hignett had it put in. He was very fond of music. It’s a thing you turn on by pressing a button in the wall,” continued Sir Mallaby. “How you stop it, I don’t know. When I was down there last it never seemed to stop. You mustn’t miss the orchestrion!” “I certainly shall,” said Mr. Bennett decidedly. “Music of that description happens to be the one thing which jars unendurably on my nerves. My nervous system is thoroughly out of tune.” “So is the orchestrion,” said Sir Mallaby. “I remember once when I was down there....” “I hope you will come down there again, Sir Mallaby,” said Mr. Mortimer, “during our occupancy of the house. And you, too,” he said, addressing Sam. “I am afraid,” said Sam frigidly, “that my time will be very much occupied for the next few months. Thank you very much,” he added, after a moment’s pause. “Sam’s going to work,” said Sir Mallaby. “Yes,” said Sam with dark determination. “Work is the only thing in life that matters!” “Oh, come, Sam!” said Sir Mallaby. “At your age I used to think love was fairly important, too!” “Love!” said Sam. He jabbed at his soufflé with a spoon. You could see by the scornful way he did it that he did not think much of love. § 4 Sir Mallaby, the last cigar of the night between his lips, broke a silence which had lasted a quarter of an hour. The guests had gone, and he and Sam were alone together. “Sam,” he said, “do you know what I think?” “No,” said Sam. Sir Mallaby removed his cigar and spoke impressively. “I’ve been turning the whole thing over in my mind, and the conclusion I have come to is that there is more in this Windles business than meets the eye. I’ve known your Aunt Adeline all my life, and I tell you it isn’t in that woman to change her infernal pig-headed mind, especially about letting her house. She is a monomaniac on that subject. If you want to know my opinion, I am quite certain that your cousin Eustace has let the place to these people without her knowledge, and intends to pocket the cheque and not say a word about it. What do you think?” “Eh?” said Sam absently. “I said, what do you think?” “What do I think about what?” “About Eustace Hignett and Windles.” “What about them?”