“That’s the word I was trying to think of,” said Fairie. “‘Infamous.’ So it is. What about roping in the others an’ havin’ a quiet game of——” “As I said in my letter to-day,” said Sir Hilton, frowning, “the community no longer asks for protection—it demands the abolition of these pests: and that, by the infliction in every case, without fear or favour, of a penalty—imprisonment, of course—so harsh as, once for all, to frighten would-be offenders back into the path of decency.” “You are fierce,” said Elizabeth. “Why——” “Yes, isn’t he?” cried Mrs. Fairie. “Never mind. Let’s——” “Isn’t it time someone was?” demanded Sir Hilton. “Look at the latest——” “_Ouch!_” squealed Fairie, leaping to his feet. “Whatever’s the matter?” cried Elizabeth, considerably startled. “Must’ve sat on a pin or something,” said Fairie desperately. “What about that poker? It’s much——” “As I was saying,” boomed Shutter, “look at the latest case. There’s a man with all the advantages which birth and education can offer——” “Excuse me, Sir Hilton,” blurted Fairie, “but—I know you’ll forgive my saying so, but the fellow in question’s rather a friend of mine, and——” “Pembury is?” “WHO?” Elizabeth was on her feet, flushed, blazing-eyed. “_Who?_” she repeated. Fairie sank into his seat with a groan. “Pembury, Elizabeth,” said Shutter. “Young Pembury. Haven’t you seen the papers?” “No,” said Elizabeth, “I haven’t. What do the papers say . . . about . . . Lord Pembury?” The broad shoulders were shrugged. “Oh, he’s the latest instance of the drunken driver. That’s all. I’m not particularly surprised, but——” “Hang it, man,” cried Fairie, “you’ve no right to——” “Why aren’t you surprised?” said Lady Elizabeth. Her fiancé stared. Then he gave a short laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. But don’t let’s pursue it. Didn’t you hear Fairie say that he’s——” “Does it occur to you that Lord Pembury’s a friend of mine?” “I know he was,” said Sir Hilton. “Is,” said Elizabeth. “Is. And always will be. Never mind. Who says he was drunk?” “The police, dear,” said Mrs. Fairie, putting an arm about her waist. “He ran into something—a taxi, on Sunday night—— _What is it, darling?_” Elizabeth was trembling violently. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. Let me sit down. ‘On Sunday night,’ you were saying. Yes?” “On Sunday night, in Park Lane. He wasn’t hurt. And the police—you know what they are—immediately jumped to the conclusion——” “Be just, Mrs. Fairie,” said Shutter. “It wasn’t a question of jumping to any conclusion. Finding him drunk, they——” “If you’ll forgive my saying so,” said Fairie, setting a brandy and soda in Elizabeth’s hand, “whether they found him drunk or sober has yet to be decided. At present he’s merely charged with being drunk.” “Of course,” said Shutter, “if you like to split hairs——”