You've no doubt heard the gossip which has been flying round the clubs for the last two days. I heard it yesterday and regarded it as nothing but an unusually wild canard. This morning I was forced to change my opinion. The Inland Revenue people have, or believe they have, information which points to the fact that smuggling on a large scale was successfully carried out at that pageant of yours. By the way, I congratulate you on the success of the affair. I couldn't manage to get down to it, but I hear it was brilliant. I need not say that I do not for a moment suspect you of trying to defraud the revenue. The suggestion is absurd. But could anything of the sort have been going on without your knowing it? That seems difficult to believe; but the Inland Revenue people are very confident. They say--I have this in strict confidence--that they know where the smuggled goods are hidden and can put their hands on them whenever they like. I need scarcely remind you that the consequences of an exposé of this kind would be serious. No sane person would believe that you and the Chief had combined together to smuggle brandy into the country. But you know the sort of mud that is slung at Election times--we may be in for one any day now--and how much of it sticks no matter how carefully we wash each other's faces. If you can give a perfectly clear and unqualified denial to the rumour, or accusation, for it comes to that, please telegraph to me and I'll see that it gets proper publicity. It won't be the first time that these permanent officials have turned out to be too clever. But if by any chance they can prove their case--not against you, but against anyone connected with your pageant--that is to say, if they can put their hands on a case of brandy or a dozen of champagne, then for heaven's sake pacify them in some way. They're going to give you the chance, I understand. Pay up. Apologise. Do anything you can; but do not let us have any publicity. I need scarcely say that I shall pull every string I can to keep the matter out of the courts, and I'll threaten any of the papers that have been hinting at it, but I must know definitely how things stand. Sir Evelyn, without waiting to drink his cup of tea, rose and rang the bell. "Is Lord Colavon in the house?" "His lordship," said the servant, "is at present in bed. I understand that he returned about six o'clock this morning. The under housemaid who was sweeping the hall at the time informed me that his lordship----" "Send him to me at once," said Sir Evelyn. "Very good, sir." But he did not do so. He returned five minutes later to say that he found it quite impossible to waken Lord Colavon. "I used every endeavour, sir, but his lordship is in a very sound sleep."