"Shall I put him out, sir?" Simpson quavered.
Lambert burst into a laugh.
"I shouldn't try it. We can't afford too many losses in one day. Go away, Simpson, and don't argue with your betters. You might not be as clever as I at explaining the visible results. I'll take care of Mr. Morton."
Simpson was bewildered.
"Quite so, sir," he said, and vanished.
"My father," Lambert said, "is in the library—that first door. Wait. I'll see if he's alone."
Painfully he limped to the door and opened it, while George waited, endeavouring not to pull at his cap.
"Father," Lambert said, smoothly, "Mr. Morton is calling."
A deep voice, muffled by distance, vibrated in the hall.
"What are you talking about?"