“Arrive Ramsgard seven o’clock Sunday night Tradesmen have no sense Could sleep at Lovelace.”

“Arrive Ramsgard seven o’clock Sunday night Tradesmen have no sense Could sleep at Lovelace.”

“There’s no answer, Monk,” he said gravely; and then, after prodding the ground thoughtfully with his stick, and looking at the figure of Jason Otter, which was now stationary behind a poplar-tree, “This is from my mother,” he added. “She is coming down from town tonight.”

“Very nice for you, Sir, I’m sure,” murmured the man. “ ’Tain’t every gentleman has got a mother.”

“But the difficulty is, Monk,” Wolf went on, “that my mother wants to stay down here. You don’t happen to know of any cottage or any rooms in a cottage that we could get for a time, do you?”