beyond his beat. Lavington's the fourth station this way on the
up-line from Chetwood. Cyril's stopping at Tilgate town, you know--I
heard from him on Saturday--and the bit he's now working at's in
Chetwood Forest. He couldn't get lodgings at Chetwood itself, so
he's put up for the present at the White Lion, at Tilgate, and runs
over by train every day to Warnworth. It's three stations away--four
off Lavington. He'd have been daubing for an hour in the wood by
that time."

"Well, I didn't attach any great importance to it myself," Nevitt
went on, unconcerned. "I thought most likely Cyril wouldn't be
there. But still I felt you'd like, at any rate, to know about it."

"Oh, of course," Guy answered, still scanning the map in "Bradshaw"
close. "He couldn't have been there; but one likes to know. I think,
indeed, to make sure, I'll telegraph to Tilgate. Naturally, when a
man's got only one relation in the whole wide world--without being
a sentimentalist--that one relation means a good deal in life to
him. And Cyril and I are more to one another, of course, than most
ordinary brothers." He bit his thumb. "Still, I can't imagine how
he could possibly be there," he went on, glancing at "Bradshaw" once
more. "You see, if he went to work, he'd have got out at Warnworth;
and if he meant to come to town to consult his dentist, he'd have
taken the 9.30 express straight through from Tilgate, which gets
up to London twenty-five minutes earlier."

"Well, but why to consult his dentist in particular?" Nevitt asked
with a smile. He had very white teeth, and he smiled accordingly
perhaps a little oftener than was quite inevitable. "You Warings
are so absolute. I never knew any such fellows in my life as you