We were too late.

The Lawn was no longer for sale.

* * * * *

Our chagrin may be imagined more easily than it can be described.

We returned to White Ladies in a state of profound depression, alternately cursing Vandy and upbraiding ourselves for not having sent for the book upon the evening of the day of our visit to Broken Ash.

Jonah reproached himself bitterly for giving our cousin the benefit of his detective work, although both Daphne and I were positive that Vandy had identified the pedestal from Adele’s description before Jonah had volunteered the suggestion that it was a sundial.

As for Adele, she was inconsolable.

It was after lunch—­a miserable meal—­when we were seated upon the terrace, that Berry cleared his throat and spoke wisely and to the point.

“The milk’s spilt,” he said, “and that’s that.  So we may as well dry our eyes.  With that perishing motto staring us in the face, we might have had the sense to be a bit quicker off the mark.  But it’s always the obvious that you never see.  Vandy’s beaten us by a foul, but there ain’t no stewards to appeal to, so we’ve got to stick it.  All the same, he’s got some digging to do before he can draw the money, and I’m ready to lay a monkey that he does it himself.  What’s more, the last thing he’ll want is to be disturbed.  In fact, any interference with his work of excavation will undoubtedly shorten his life.  Properly organized innocent interference will probably affect his reason.  Our course of action is therefore clear.

“Unable to procure his beastly book—­our copy cannot be found—­we have forgotten the incident.  It comes to our ears that he has bought The Lawn and is in possession.  What more natural than that some of us should repair thither, to congratulate him upon becoming our neighbour?  We shall roll up quite casually—­by way of the door in the wall—­and, when we find him labouring, affect the utmost surprise.  Of our good nature we might even offer to help him to—­er—­relay the lawn or tackle the drains, or whatever he’s doing.  In any event we shall enact the role of the village idiot, till between the respective gadflies of suspicion—­which he dare not voice—­and impatience—­which he dare not reveal—­he will be goaded into a condition of frenzy.  What about it?”

The idea was heartily approved, and we became more cheerful.

Immediate arrangements were made for the entrance to The Lawn to be watched for the next twenty-four hours by reliefs of out-door servants whom we could trust, and instructions were issued that the moment Mr. Vandy Pleydell put in an appearance, whether by day or night, we were to be informed.

At eight o’clock the next morning Berry came into my room.

“They’re off,” he said.  “Thirty-five minutes ago Vandy and Emma and May arrived, unaccompanied, in a four-wheeled dogcart.  He’d got the key of the gates, but the difficulty of getting them open single-handed appears to have been titanic.  They seem to have stuck, or something.  Altogether, according to James, a most distressing scene.  However.  Eventually they got inside and managed to shut the gates after them.  In the dogcart there was a scythe and a whole armoury of tools.”