A stronger smell of smoke blew into the room a moment later as the door opened, and Major Boventry, pyjama-clad and solemnly excited, stood in the doorway.

“The house is on fire!” he exclaimed.

“Oh,” said Lucien, “is that it? I thought perhaps you had come to talk to me. If you would shut the door the smoke wouldn’t pour in so.”

“We ought to do something,” said the Major with conviction.

“I hardly know the family,” said Lucien, “but I suppose one will be expected to be present, even though the fire does not appear to be in this wing of the house.”

“It may spread to here,” said the Major.

“Well, let’s go and look at it,” assented Lucien, “though it’s against my principles to meet trouble halfway.”

“Grasp your nettle, that’s what I say,” observed Boventry.