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potatoes and separated milk or buttermilk. This, he now saw clearly, was no one man job. It called not only for a dashing principal but a zealous assistant.
    And what assistant?
    Hugo?
    No. In many respects the ideal accomplice for an undertaking of this nature, Hugo Carmody had certain defects which automatically disqualified him. To enrol Hugo as his lieutenant would mean revealing to him the motives that lay at the back of the venture.
    And if Hugo knew that he, Ronnie, was endeavouring to collect funds in order to get married, the thing would be all over Shropshire in a couple of days. Short of putting it on the front page of the Daily Mail or having it broadcast over the wireless, the surest way of obtaining publicity for anything you wanted kept dark was to confide it to Hugo Carmody. A splendid chap, but the real, genuine human colander. No, not Hugo.
    Then who? . . .
    Ah!
    Ronnie Fish sprang from his chair, threw his head back and uttered a yodel of joy so loud and penetrating that the door of the small library flew open as if he had touched a spring.
    A tousled literary man emerged.
    ‘Stop that damned noise! How the devil can I write with a row like that going on?’
    ‘Sorry, Uncle. I was just thinking of something.’
    ‘Well, think of something else. How do you spell “intoxicated”?’
    ‘One “x”.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said the Hon. Galahad, and vanished again.
    V
    In his pantry, in shirt-sleeved ease, Beach, the butler, sat taking the well-earned rest of a man whose silver is all done and who has no further duties to perform till lunch-time. A bullfinch sang gaily in a cage on the window-sill, but it did not disturb him, for he was absorbed in the Racing Intelligence page of the Morning Post.
    Suddenly he rose, palpitating. A sharp rap had sounded on the door, and he was a man who reacted nervously to sudden noises. There entered his employer’s nephew, Mr Ronald Fish.
    ‘Hullo, Beach.’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Busy?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Just thought I’d look in.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’

‘For a chat.’
    ‘Very good, sir.’
    Although the butler spoke with his usual smooth courtesy, he was far from feeling easy in his mind. He did not like Ronnie’s looks. It seemed to him that his young visitor was feverish. The limbs twitched, the eyes gleamed, the blood-pressure appeared heightened, and there was a super-normal pinkness in the epidermis of the cheek.
    ‘Long time since we had a real, cosy talk, Beach.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’

    ‘When I was a kid, I used to be in and out of this pantry of yours all day long.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    A mood of extreme sentimentality now appeared to grip the young man. He sighed like a centenarian recalling far off, happy things.
    ‘Those were the days, Beach.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘No problems then. No worries. And even if I had worries, I could always bring them to you, couldn’t I?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Remember the time I hid in here when my Uncle Gaily was after me with a whangee for putting tin-tacks on his chair?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘It was a close call, but you saved me. You were staunch and true. A man in a million.
    I’ve always thought that if there were more people like you in the world, it would be a better place.’
    ‘I do my best to give you satisfaction, sir.’
    And how you succeed! I shall never forget your kindness in those dear old days, Beach.’
    ‘Extremely good of you to say so, sir.’
    ‘Later, as the years went by, I did my best to repay you, by sharing with you such snips as came my way. Remember the time I gave you Blackbird for the Manchester November Handicap?’
    Yes, sir.’
    You collected a packet.’
    ‘It did prove a remarkably sound investment, sir.’
    Yes. And so it went on. I look back through the years, and I seem to see you and me standing side by side, each helping each, each doing the square thing by the other. You certainly always did the square thing by me.’
    ‘I trust I shall always continue to do so, sir.’
    ‘I

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