And Mr. East was a man who had achieved a certain amount of what is called education by means of County Council scholarships and had successfully passed the examination which admitted him to the Civil Service. He was therefore inclined to dislike and despise those for whom the winning of scholarships in early life had not been necessary and who, in spite of their expensive education could not at any time have passed a Civil Service examination. By temperament, position and achievement he was one of those Englishmen who have a thorough contempt for our aristocracy, the class to which Sir Evelyn unquestionably belonged. No one is more nervous than your thoroughgoing democrat who is determined not to be uncomfortable in the company of men like Sir Evelyn. But there was yet another reason to account for the perspiration which was standing on Mr. East's forehead. Imagine a worshipper forced to accuse the god above his altar of a base fraud, or an independent member of the middle class who finds himself compelled to make a charge of a dishonourable kind against a man whose name, borne by a long list of ancestors, is written like an endorsement across page after page of English history. That was the unfortunate position of Mr. East. He had that morning received from London by registered post from the permanent head of his department, instructions to visit Sir Evelyn, to see him personally, to inform him that His Majesty's Department of Customs and Excise was fully aware that smuggling on a large scale had been carried on under cover of the Hailey Compton pageant. Mr. East had gasped when he read that letter. It gave details, so many gallons of French brandy and wine, a very large quantity. So many hundred yards of silk, the real product of the industry of the foreign worm. The fraud was as shameless as it was immense; and there was no doubt whatever about the facts. Mr. East, who knew his business and the ways of his department, understood exactly how this information had been received and how it came that the department was so sure of its facts. Notice is always sent by agents, whose business it is to watch such things, of any considerable shipment of contraband goods from a Continental port. The ship which carries them is known. The men to whom they are consigned in England are marked. All this Mr. East had to tell, and in the end did tell to Sir Evelyn. He was nervous and miserable, but he was a man possessed by that spirit which forces the best of us to do desperately unpleasant duties. He did his. Sir Evelyn's conscience was perfectly clear. He was annoyed that such an absurd and tiresome mistake should have been made; but he had not the slightest doubt that it was a mistake. He said so with the confidence of an accused man who knows that he is innocent. Mr. East, more nervous than ever, but still determined to do his duty, went on: