"Very unreliable, these high-powered cars," said the servant. "So I've always been led to believe." "Don't sit up for him," said Sir Evelyn. "He's not likely to return to-night. I shall go to bed as usual." He did, at the sober hour of eleven o'clock. He was by that time seriously annoyed and a little uneasy--not because he feared that any harm had come to his nephew. Whatever might have happened to the car, Jimmy himself was sure to be safe. Accidents do not happen to that kind of young man, though they ought to. Yet, Sir Evelyn reflected, it would have been satisfactory to have heard him deny---- No. It would be ridiculous to expect a formal denial of Mr. East's accusation. It would have been satisfactory to have laughed over the matter with his nephew. To make jokes about it and hear jokes made before going to bed. Yet, in spite of annoyance, Sir Evelyn slept quietly that night. Next morning at eight o'clock he was called and his letters laid beside him. Sir Evelyn glanced at them as he poured out his tea. There was a thick bundle of press-cuttings, more comments on the pageant. There were several circulars. There were one or two bills. There was just one envelope which looked as if it contained a letter. It came from a very important political personage, one of those gentlemen whose names do not appear prominently in the newspapers, who seldom make speeches on full-dress occasions, but are powerful in the councils of parties and have a great deal to do with the administration of funds. Sir Evelyn opened the envelope with a vague feeling of uneasiness. The premonition was justified at once. The letter was startling and disquieting.