"No. He could take the eight o'clock train and be here about half-past nine."
"Mr. Hatch, will you wire to Mr. Weston--Ernest Weston--and ask him to come to-night, sure. Impress on him the fact that it is a matter of the greatest importance."
Instead of telegraphing, Hatch went to the telephone and spoke to Weston at his club. The trip would interfere with some other plans, the broker explained, but he would come. The Thinking Machine had meanwhile been conversing with the constable and had given some sort of instructions which evidently amazed that official exceedingly, for he kept repeating "By ginger!" with considerable fervor.
"And not one word or hint of it to anyone," said The Thinking Machine. "Least of all to the members of your family."
"By ginger!" was the response, and the constable went to supper.
The Thinking Machine and Hatch had their supper thoughtfully that evening in the little village "hotel." Only once did Hatch break this silence.
"You told me to see Weston's handwriting," he said. "Of course you knew he was with the constable and myself when we saw the THING, therefore it would have been impossible----"
"Nothing is impossible," broke in The Thinking Machine. "Don't say that, please."
"I mean that, as he was with us----"
"We'll end the ghost story to-night," interrupted the scientist.