of black ribbon, and was engaged in clipping this round his neck when Sir Roland walked in.
The Viscount looked up and met his friend’s eyes in the mirror. Sir Roland was looking very solemn; he shook his head slightly, and heaved a sigh.
“Don’t need you any longer, Corney,” said the Viscount, dismissing his valet.
The door closed discreetly behind the man. The Viscount swung round in his chair, and leaned his arms along the back of it. “How drunk was I last night?” he demanded.
Sir Roland looked more lugubrious than ever. “Pretty drunk, Pel. You wanted to pull that fellow Drelincourt’s nose.”
“That don’t prove I was drunk,” said the Viscount impatiently. “But I can’t get it out of my head that my sister Rule had something to do with it. Did she or did she not say she hit Lethbridge over the head with a poker?”
“A poker, was it?” exclaimed Sir Roland. “Could not for the life of me remember what it was she said she hit him with! That was it! Then you went off to see if he was dead.” The Viscount cursed softly. “And I took her l’ship home.” He frowned. “And what’s more, she said I was to wait on her this morning!”
“It’s the devil of a business,” muttered the Viscount. “What in God’s name was she doing in the fellow’s house?”
Sir Roland coughed. “Naturally—needn’t tell you—can rely on me, Pel. Awkward affair—mum’s the word.”
The Viscount nodded. “Mighty good of you, Pom. I’ll have to see my sister first thing. You’d best come with me.”
He got up and reached for his waistcoat. Someone scratched on the door, and upon being told to come in, the valet entered with a sealed letter on a salver. The Viscount picked it up and broke the seal.
The note was from Horatia, and was evidently written in great agitation. “
“Waiting for an answer?” the Viscount asked curtly.
“No, my lord.”
“Then send a message to the stables, will you, and tell Jackson to bring the phaeton round.”
Sir Roland, who had watched with concern the reading of the note, thought he had rarely seen his friend turn so pale, and coughed a second time. “Pel, dear old boy—must remind you—she hit him with the poker. Laid him out, you know.”
“Yes,” said the Viscount, looking a trifle less grim. “So she did. Help me into my coat, Pom. We’ll drive round to Grosvenor Square now.”
When, twenty minutes later, the phaeton drew up outside Rule’s house, Sir Roland said that perhaps it would be better if he did not come in, so the Viscount entered the house alone and was shown at once to one of the smaller saloons. Here he found his sister, looking the picture of despair.
She greeted him without recrimination. “Oh, P-Pel, I’m so glad you’ve come! I am quite undone, and you must help me!”
The Viscount laid down his hat and gloves, and said sternly: “Now, Horry, what happened last night? Don’t put yourself in a taking: just tell me!”
“Of course I’m going to tell you!” said Horatia. “I w-went to Richmond House to the b-ball and the fireworks.”
“Never mind about the fireworks,” interrupted the Viscount. “You weren’t at Richmond House, nor anywhere near it, when I met you.”
“No, I was in Half-Moon Street,” said Horatia innocently.
“You went to Lethbridge’s house?”
At the note of accusation in her brother’s voice, Horatia flung up her head. “Yes I did, but if you think I w- went there of my own choice you are quite odious!” Her lip trembled. “Though w-why you should believe that I didn’t, I can’t imagine, for it’s the stupidest tale you ever heard, and I know it d-doesn’t sound true.
“Well, what is the tale?” he asked, drawing up a chair.
She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief. “You see, my shoes p-pinched me, and I left the b-ball early, and it was raining. My c-coach was called, and I suppose I never looked at the footman—indeed, why should I?”
“What the devil has the footman to do with it?” demanded the Viscount.
“Everything,” said Horatia. “He w-wasn’t the right one.”
“I don’t see what odds that makes.”
“ I m-mean he wasn’t one of our servants at all. The c-coach-man wasn’t either. They were L-Lord Lethbridge’s.”
“What?” ejaculated the Viscount, his brow growing black as thunder.
Horatia nodded. “Yes, and they drove me to his house. And I w-went in before I realized.”
The Viscount was moved to expostulate: “Lord, you must have known it wasn’t your house!”
“I tell you I didn’t! I know it sounds stupid, but it was raining, and the f-footman held the umbrella so that I c-couldn’t see m-much and I was inside b-before I knew.”
“Did Lethbridge open the door?”
“N-no, the porter did.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you walk out again?”
“I know I should have,” confessed Horatia, “but then Lord Lethbridge came out of the s-saloon, and asked me to step in. And, P-Pel, I didn’t understand; I thought it was a m-mistake, and I d-didn’t want to make a scene before the p-porter, so I went in. Only n-now I see how foolish it was of me, because if Rule comes to hear of it, and m- makes inquiries, the servants will say I went in w-willingly and so I did!”
“Rule mustn’t hear of this,” said the Viscount grimly.
“No, of c-course he mustn’t, and that’s why I sent for you.”
“Horry, what happened in the saloon? Come, let me hear the whole of it!”
“It was d-dreadful! He said he w-was going to ravish me, and oh, Pel, it was just to revenge himself on R- Rulel So I p-pretended I m-might run away with him, and as soon as he turned his back, I hit him with the p-poker and escaped.”
The Viscount drew a sigh of relief. “That’s all, Horry?”
“No, it isn’t all,” said Horatia desperately. “My g-gown was torn when he k-kissed me, and though I d-didn’t know till I got home, my brooch fell out, and, P-Pel, he’s got it now!”
“Make yourself easy,” said the Viscount, getting up. “He won’t have it long.”
Catching sight of his face, which wore a starkly murderous expression, Horatia cried out: “What are you going to do?”
“Do?” said the Viscount, with a short, ugly laugh. “Cut the dog’s heart out!”
Horatia sprung up suddenly. “P-Pel, you can’t! For g-good-ness’ sake don’t fight him! You know he’s m-much better than you are, and only think of the scandal! P-Pel, you’ll ruin me if you do! You can’t do it!”
The Viscount checked in bitter disgust. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t. Fiend seize it, there must be some way of forcing a quarrel on him without bringing you into it!”
“If you fight him everyone will say it was about m-me, because after you f-fought Crosby people t-talked, and I did silly things—oh, you mustn’t, P-Pel. It’s bad enough with Sir Roland knowing—”
“Pom!” exclaimed the Viscount. “We’ll have him in! He might have a notion how I can manage it.”
“Have him in? W-why, where is he?”
“Outside with the phaeton. You needn’t mind him, Horry; he’s devilish discreet.”
“W-well, if you think he could help us, he can c-come in,” said Horatia dubiously. “But p-please explain it all to him, first, P-Pel, for he must be thinking the most d-dreadful things about me.”
Accordingly, when the Viscount returned presently to the saloon with Sir Roland, that worthy had been put in possession of all the facts. He bowed over Horatia’s hand, and embarked on a somewhat involved apology for his inebriety the night before. The Viscount cut him short. “Never mind about that!” he adjured him. “Can I call Lethbridge out?”
Sir Roland devoted deep thought to this, and after a long pause pronounced the verdict. “No,” he said.
“I m-must say, you’ve got m-much more sense than I thought,” said Horatia approvingly.
“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the Viscount, “that I’m to sit by while that dog kidnaps my sister, and
