“Never mind!” said Mr. Mortimer, taking up a book. Mr. Bennett went back to bed in an uneasy frame of mind. He brooded for half an hour, and, at the expiration of that period, rang for Webster and requested that Billie should be sent to him. “I want you to go to London,” he said, when she appeared. “I must have legal advice. I want you to go and see Sir Mallaby Marlowe. Tell him that Henry Mortimer is annoying me in every possible way and sheltering himself behind his knowledge of the law, so that I can’t get at him. Ask Sir Mallaby to come down here. And, if he can’t come himself, tell him to send someone who can advise me. His son would do, if he knows anything about the business.” “Oh, I’m sure he does!” “Eh? How do you know?” “Well, I mean, he looks as if he does!” said Billie hastily. “He looks so clever!” “I didn’t notice it myself. Well, he’ll do, if Sir Mallaby’s too busy to come himself. I want you to go up to-night, so that you can see him first thing to-morrow morning. You can stop the night at the Savoy. I’ve sent Webster to look out a train.” “There’s a splendid train in about an hour. I’ll take that.” “It’s giving you a lot of trouble,” said Mr. Bennett, with belated consideration. “Oh, _no!_” said Billie. “I’m only too glad to be able to do this for you, father dear!” CHAPTER XI. MR. BENNETT HAS A BAD NIGHT The fragment of a lobster-shell which had entered Mr. Bennett’s tongue at twenty minutes to two in the afternoon was still in occupation at half-past eleven that night, when that persecuted gentleman blew out his candle and endeavoured to compose himself for a night’s slumber. Its unconscious host had not yet been made aware of its presence. He had a vague feeling that the tip of his tongue felt a little sore, but his mind was too engrossed with the task of keeping a look-out for the preliminary symptoms of mumps to have leisure to bestow much attention on this phenomenon. The discomfort it caused was not sufficient to keep him awake, and presently he turned on his side and began to fill the room with a rhythmical snoring. How pleasant if one could leave him so—the good man taking his rest. Facts, however, are facts; and, having crept softly from Mr. Bennett’s side with the feeling that at last everything is all right with him, we are compelled to return three hours later to discover that everything is all wrong. It is so dark in the room that our eyes can at first discern nothing; then, as we grow accustomed to the blackness, we perceive him sitting bolt upright in bed, staring glassily before him, while with the first finger of his right hand he touches apprehensively the tip of his protruding tongue. At this point Mr. Bennett lights his candle—one of the charms of Windles was the old-world simplicity of its lighting system—and we are enabled to get a better view of him.