It was Mary; she was speaking from Great Charles Street and her voice was sharp with alarm.
“There’s been an awful mishap, Dick,” she said breathlessly. “Are you alone? You’re sure there’s no one there? … Archie Roylance has made a dreadful mess of things. … He came to that dancing-place tonight, and Adela Victor was there, and Odell with her. Archie had seen her before, you know, and apparently was much attracted. No! He didn’t recognise me, for when I saw him I kept out of range. But of course he recognised the Marquis. He danced with Adela, and I suppose he talked nonsense to her—anyhow he made himself conspicuous. The result was that Odell proposed to take her away—I suppose he was suspicious of anybody of Archie’s world—and, well, there was a row. The place was very empty—only about a dozen, and mostly a rather bad lot. Archie asked what right he had to carry off the girl, and lost his temper, and the manager was called in—the man with the black beard. He backed up Odell, and then Archie did a very silly thing. He said he was Sir Archibald Roylance and wasn’t going to be dictated to by any Jew, and, worse, he said his friend was the Marquis de la Tour du Pin, and that between them they would burst up this show, and that he wouldn’t have a poor girl ordered about by a third-rate American bully. … I don’t know what happened afterwards. The women were hustled out, and I had to go with the rest. … But, Dick, it’s bad trouble. I’m not afraid so much for Archie, though he has probably had a bad mauling, but the Marquis. They’re sure to know who he is and all about him and remember his connection with Adela. They’re almost certain to make certain in some horrible way that he can’t endanger them again.
“Lord,” I groaned, “what a catastrophe! And what on earth can I do? I daren’t take any part!”
“No,” came a hesitating voice. “I suppose not. But you can warn the Marquis—if nothing has happened to him already.”
“Precious poor chance. These fellows don’t waste time. But go to bed and sleep, my dear. I’ll do my best.”
My best at that time of night was pretty feeble. I rang up Victor’s house and found, as I expected, that Turpin had not returned. Then I rang up Archie’s house in Grosvenor Street and got the same answer about him. It was no good my going off to the back streets of Marylebone, so I went to bed and spent a wretched night.
Very early next morning I was in Grosvenor Street, and there I had news. Archie’s man had just had a telephone message from a hospital to say that his master had had an accident, and would he come round and bring clothes. He packed a bag and he and I drove there at once, and found the miserable Archie in bed, the victim officially of a motor accident. He did not seem to be very bad, but it was a rueful face, much battered about the eyes and bandaged as to the jaw, which was turned on me when the nurse left us.
“You remember what I said about the pug with the diamond studs,” he whistled through damaged teeth. “Well, I took him on last night and got tidily laid out. I’m not up to professional standards, and my game leg made me slow.”
“You’ve put your foot into it most nobly,” I said. “What do you mean by brawling in a dance-club? You’ve embarrassed me horribly in the job I’m on.”
“But how?” he asked, and but for the bandage his jaw would have dropped.
“Never mind how at present. I want to know exactly what happened. It’s more important than you think.”
He told me the same story that I had heard from Mary, but much garlanded with objurgations. He denied that he had dined too well—“nothing but a small whisky-and-soda and one glass of port.” He had been looking for the girl in green for some time, and having found her, was not going to miss the chance of making her acquaintance. “A melancholy little being with nothin’ to say for herself. She’s had hard usage from some swine—you could see it by her eyes—and I expect the pug’s the villain. Anyway, I wasn’t goin’ to stand his orderin’ her about like a slave. So I told him so, and a fellow with a black beard chipped in and they began to hustle me. Then I did a dam’ silly thing. I tried to solemnise ’em by sayin’ who I was, and old Turpin was there, so I dragged his name in. Dashed caddish thing to do, but I thought a Marquis would put the wind up that crowd.”
“Did he join in?”
“I don’t know—I rather fancy he got scragged at the start. Anyhow I found myself facin’ the pug, seein’ bright red, and inclined to fight a dozen. I didn’t last for more
