Mordaunt possessed himself of the gun without further argument. "Then you'd better set to work and find him. Chris is going out this afternoon."
"In the motor?" Noel's eyes shone. "I'll go, too. You needn't bother about Cinders. He always turns up sooner or later. Don't tell Chris, or she'll spend the rest of the day hunting for him."
"She will probably want to know," observed Mordaunt.
"I shall say I never had him," said Noel unconcernedly. "He won't come to any harm, but you can turn that secretary fellow of yours on to the job if you're feeling anxious. I say, Trevor, we shan't want the chauffeur. Tell them, will you?"
"You certainly won't go without him," Mordaunt rejoined. "And look here,
Noel, you're not to tell lies. Understand?"
Noel looked up with a flicker of temper in his Irish eyes, "Oh, rats!" he said.
"Understand?" Mordaunt repeated. "It's the one thing I won't put up with, so make up your mind to that."
He spoke quite temperately, but with unswerving decision. His eyes looked hard into Noel's, and the boy's spark of resentment went out like an extinguished match.
"I say, I like you!" he said with enthusiasm. "You're a regular sport!"
"Thank you," Mordaunt returned gravely.