All three of its occupants were in a holiday humour. The Judge was radiant; Orphan proved splendid company; while Blithe, a brilliant talker, kept the two bubbling with merriment upon a fire of delicate wit. The miles fairly melted beneath their gaiety. Indeed, it was not until the Judge's eye caught the message of an odd finger-post that any one of the three realized that they had passed Blenheim.
"CHIPPING NORTON 8!" cried his lordship. "Gad, gentlemen, we're nearly there. Blithe, you're a stage-manager in a million. The thing's going to pan out like a well-written play. What time did you tell Plowman to expect us?"
"At twelve o'clock," said Blithe. "With any luck we shall just do it nicely."
"Good!" said the Judge. Then: "I think we'd better pick up Plowman and take him with us, don't you, Orphan?"
"I think so. For one thing, he knows Lyveden and can introduce us."
"Quite so." His lordship consulted his watch. "We ought to have landed our fish by a quarter to one. We'd better mark down an hotel and carry him off to lunch. You'd better speak to him first and just make sure he's our man."
"Certainly," said Orphan. "I think if I ask him his mother's maiden name, where he was born, his age, and the name of his uncle's butler, that ought to do."
"Why the name of the butler?" said Blithe. "Is that a catch?"
"Quite right," said Orphan. "Just to make doubly sure. Old Jonathan Roach never would have a man-servant in the house. It was a whim of his. If I get the right answer, I shall be easy for ever. But I don't want to take any risks with the best part of a million at stake."
"I agree," said Sir Giles. "Have you got some cash for him?"