A good conscience is a priceless possession. Sir Evelyn had not broken the laws of his country by bringing into it forbidden things. With all his admiration for the smugglers of the eighteenth century, whose lives he studied, it would have been impossible for him to imitate them. Nor would he willingly have associated with a man who smuggled anything more than a box of cigars after a trip to the Channel Islands. The accusation of the egregious Mr. East left Sir Evelyn untroubled. Some incredibly absurd mistake had been made for which in due time an apology would be forthcoming. It was impossible that a pageant, in itself a highly commendable thing--a pageant under the patronage of a bishop, of a judge, of a man who had been Prime Minister, of Sir Evelyn Dent--should have been in reality a smuggling raid. Was he to suspect Mrs. Eames, a transparently honest though too talkative lady, of being a smuggler? And she had managed the whole affair from the beginning. Could he think that James Hinton, the very type of superior upper servant, that Linker, a most respectable shopkeeper with a taste for politics, had deliberately planned a disgraceful fraud? The idea was preposterous. And had not his own nephew, Lord Colavon, to whom the petty gains of illicit trading could be no temptation--had he not been in command of--had he not actually steered the lugger? Someone in a Government office in London had blundered badly, and the ridiculous, tremulous Mr. East with his ultimatum and his threats could be forgotten as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, Sir Evelyn could not quite forget Mr. East, and after a while he rose and rang the bell. "If Lord Colavon is anywhere about the place," he said, "ask him to be so good as to come and speak to me here for a few minutes." A servant searched for Lord Colavon in the house. A gardener sought him in the grounds. A man who cleaned the boots and carried coal reported that the Pallas Athene was not in the garage. It was surmised that Lord Colavon had not yet returned from the railway station to which he had conveyed the judge. "Very well," said Sir Evelyn, "as soon as he does return ask him to come here." The morning passed, not unpleasantly for Sir Evelyn, who found much to interest him in the press-cuttings. Luncheon-time came and he ate it alone. Lord Colavon had not yet returned and the Pallas Athene was not yet in the garage. The servant, surmising again, suggested that his lordship might have gone to Hailey Compton to visit the young ladies. Sir Evelyn thought this very likely, and ate his luncheon peacefully. Tea-time came, and after that dinner, but Lord Colavon did not appear. Sir Evelyn was slightly annoyed but not much surprised. His nephew was a young man of irregular habits. The servant, bringing whisky and a siphon into the study at half-past nine, ventured on a further guess. "His lordship's car may have broken down somewhere." This, too, seemed probable.