“ Mr. Solent! Mr. Solent!”

He turned on his heel and beheld Bob Weevil, still in his shirtsleeves, smiling and perspiring after a violent run.

“What’s up, Weevil?” he asked.

The young man bowed respectfully to Miss Gault and gasped for breath.

“ Mr. Urquhart sent me to find you, sir,” he panted. “He says you must umpire now instead of him. He has to go now.”