“Oh, I’ll certainly _see_ them!” Wiggie promised cheerfully. “And look here, Marget, if they come worrying again to the house and make out they haven’t met me, just pretend you’re all dead or something, will you, and keep on keeping out of the way? I’ve to have a nice, quiet day, you know--master’s orders!” And see them he did, meet them he did, quite five minutes before their time, just as the limousine had cleared Watters and settled down into the straight. But it is quite easy to see and yet not be seen in a closed car with a deep back seat, and at the wheel an enthusiastic under-chauffeur, blessed with the Heaven-sent chance of “letting her rip.” Wiggie was over at Crabtree asking for garments by the time the “two gents.” had finished knocking and peering at an apparently deserted house. As they were leaving, in intense irritation and disgust, they met a gardener’s boy, who told them that the whole family had gone to the Show. Which Show? “Why, t’ gert ’un i’ Manchester, o’ coorse!” Mr. Wigmore, too? Yes, certainly Mr. Wigmore, too. The gardener’s boy was always at least twenty-four hours behind the clock, so his knowledge of Wiggie’s indisposition was not due for some time yet. The wily quarry found Helwise in the attic, hunting for the shirt and shorts that she had assured Lanty were safe in the green ottoman on the front landing. She had believed her own statement quite honestly, and as Lancaster was in a hurry, he believed he believed it, too, which he would not have done in a calmer moment, but no amount of belief had conjured the garments into the ottoman. Wiggie joined in the search with zest, and though it was not Wiggie’s attic, it was certainly Wiggie who suggested twenty hiding-places and discovered the treasure in the twenty-first. And after Lanty’s hockey-stick had been run to earth in the jam-cupboard, it was nearly lunch-time, so at Miss Lancaster’s request the borrower stayed to join her at the scrapings of something potted. She was driving over to the match in any case, so he sent the car home and changed in Lanty’s room. He fell asleep by the dining-room fire while he was waiting for Helwise to decide whether she looked more sporting in her own golf jersey or Lanty’s aquascutem, and dreamed he was the sparking-plug in a very large motor-roller at the Show, over which Dandy’s face was bent in earnest struggle after comprehension. Hamer had bought the motor-roller, and wished to see it roll something, if only a little Manchester mud, so it was trotted out and set to work, and then everything went to smithereens in a hundred and forty different directions, and he could hear Dandy’s voice, far and very far off, remarking: “Something wrong with the sparking-plug! I knew it last night on the stairs!”