‘I believe he knows something about it!’ Mrs Claire exclaimed very archly. ‘Weren’t we silly-billies? We thought of a fairy godmother, but we never guessed it might be a fairy godfather at work, did we? Dear James, and she kissed him again. ‘But you shouldn’t.’

‘Merciful Creator,’ apostrophized Dr Ackrington, ‘do I look like a fairy! Is it likely that I, who for the past decade have urged upon this insane household the virtues of economy, and investment—is it likely that I should madly lavish large sums of money upon feminine garments? And pray, Agnes, why are you gaping at that paper? Surely you didn’t expect the war news to be anything but disastrous?’

Mrs Claire gave him the paper and pointed silently to a paragraph in the advertisement columns. Barbara read over his shoulder:

THE SPA WAI-ATA-TAPU HOT SPRINGS

Visit the miraculous health-giving thermal fairyland of the North. Astounding cures wrought by unique chemical properties of amazing pools. Delightful surroundings. Homelike residential private hotel. Every comfort and attention. Medical supervision. Under new management.

M. QUESTING

The paper shook in Dr Ackrington’s hand, but he said nothing. His sister pointed to the personal column.

‘Mr Geoffrey Gaunt, the famous English actor, is at present a guest at Wai-ata-tapu Spa. He is accompanied by Mr Dikon Bell, his private secretary.’

‘James!’ Mrs Claire cried out. ‘Remember your dyspepsia, dear. It’s so bad for you!’

Her brother, white to the lips and trembling, presented the formidable spectacle of a man transported by rage. ‘After all,’ Mrs Claire added timidly, ‘it is going to be true, dear, we’re afraid. He will be manager very soon. Of course it’s inconsiderate not to wait. Poor Edward—’

‘To hell with poor Edward!’ whispered Dr Ackrington. ‘Have you eyes! Can you read! Will you forget for one moment the inevitable consequences of poor Edward’s imbecility, and tell me how I am to interpret THAT?’ His quivering finger pointed to the penultimate phrase of the advertisement. ‘Medical supervision. Medical supervision! My God, the fellow means ME!’ Dr Ackrington’s voice broke into a surprising falsetto. He glared at Barbara, who immediately burst into a hoot of terrified laughter. He uttered a loud oath, crushed the newspaper into a ball, and flung it at her feet. ‘Certifiable lunatics, the lot of you!’ he raged, and turned blindly along the verandah towards his own room.

Before he could reach it, however, Mr Septimus Falls, doubled over his stick, came out of his own room. The two limping gentlemen hurried towards each other. A collision seemed imminent and Dikon cried out involuntarily: ‘Dr Ackrington! Look out, sir.’

They halted, facing each other. Mr Falls said mellifluously: ‘Dr Ackrington? How do you do, sir? I was about to make inquiries. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Septimus Falls. You, I take it, are the medical superintendent.’