“No, I don’t. What disappearance?” “You must have heard of it? Why, it happened while they were at Chimneys. Henry was terribly upset about it. It almost ruined his career.” “You interest me enormously,” said Lord Caterham. “Who or what disappeared?” Lomax leant forward and put his mouth to Lord Caterham’s ear. The latter withdrew it hastily. “For God’s sake, don’t hiss at me.” “You heard what I said?” “Yes, I did,” said Lord Caterham reluctantly. “I remember now hearing something about it at the time. Very curious affair. I wonder who did it. It was never recovered?” “Never. Of course we had to go about the matter with the utmost discretion. No hint of the loss could be allowed to leak out. But Stylptitch was there at the time. He knew something. Not all, but something. We were at loggerheads with him once or twice over the Turkish question. Suppose that in sheer malice he has set the whole thing down for the world to read. Think of the scandal—of the far-reaching results. Every one would say—why was it hushed up?” “Of course they would,” said Lord Caterham, with evident enjoyment. Lomax, whose voice had risen to a high pitch, took a grip on himself. “I must keep calm,” he murmured. “I must keep calm. But I ask you this, my dear fellow. If he didn’t mean mischief, why did he send the manuscript to London in this roundabout way?” “It’s odd, certainly. You are sure of your facts?” “Absolutely. We—er—had our agents in Paris. The Memoirs were conveyed away secretly some weeks before his death.” “Yes, it looks as though there’s something in it,” said Lord Caterham, with the same relish he had displayed before. “We have found out that they were sent to a man called Jimmy, or James, McGrath, a Canadian at present in Africa.” “Quite an Imperial affair, isn’t it?” said Lord Caterham cheerily. “James McGrath is due to arrive by the _Granarth Castle_ to-morrow—Thursday.” “What are you going to do about it?” “We shall, of course, approach him at once, point out the possibly serious consequences, and beg him to defer publication of the Memoirs for at least a month, and in any case to permit them to be judiciously—er—edited.” “Supposing that he says ‘No, sir,’ or ‘I’ll goddarned well see you in hell first,’ or something bright and breezy like that?” suggested Lord Caterham. “That’s just what I’m afraid of,” said Lomax simply. “That’s why it suddenly occurred to me that it might be a good thing to ask him down to Chimneys as well. He’d be flattered, naturally, at being asked to meet Prince Michael, and it might be easier to handle him.” “I’m not going to do it,” said Lord Caterham hastily. “I don’t get on with Canadians, never did—especially those that have lived much in Africa!” “You’d probably find him a splendid fellow—a rough diamond, you know.” “No, Lomax. I put my foot down there absolutely. Somebody else has got to tackle him.”