“What’s Mr. Forsyth want?” “I don’t know at all, my lord. He simply told me to find you, wherever you were, and bring you back in a cab to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.” Pembury, who was at his tailor’s, adjusted his tie. “All right,” he said slowly. “If you’ll get a cab, I’ll be ready in two minutes’ time.” The clerk bowed and withdrew. Pembury wondered, frowning, what was afoot. Had Forsyth got hold of something? Had he been making inquiries and come on the truth? Had the Richelieu been talking? Had . . . Forsyth had found out something. Not a doubt of it. Something about Sunday night. And Forsyth was going to try to force his hand. He was going to threaten to put Elizabeth wise. . . . Pembury smiled a grim smile. As he entered the lawyer’s room— “Good morning, Dick,” said Elizabeth. “Where did they pick you up? I told them to try——” “Forsyth,” said Pembury sternly, “I don’t remember instructing you——” “One minute,” cried Forsyth. “One minute. My hands are clean. I haven’t moved in the matter. I never found the lady. She found me.” “But——” “It’s perfectly true,” said Elizabeth. “I only heard last night. Of course, it’s my own fault. I really must read the papers: but they’re so frightfully dull—usually.” “Who told you?” said Pembury. “Hilton, of course. But observe how astute I am. A fool would have rushed to you. The woman of the world goes to a lawyer.” “Why does she do that?” “Because,” said Elizabeth, “it’s Saturday, and lawyers are closed at one. By the time I’d had it out with you, the lawyers would have been closed. As it is, we’re in just nice time. My statement’s being typed now.” “I won’t have you called,” said Pembury. “Quite sure?” said Lady Elizabeth. “Positive. That’s flat. You can’t be called without my consent, and, short of pressin’ me to death, you won’t get that.” “But, Dick——” “My dear, it’s no earthly. I’m absolutely resolved. I not only won’t call you, but I won’t have you near the Court.” He flung himself into a chair and crossed his legs. “Now, Dick, just listen. Put yourself in my place. Supposing I was charged with something I hadn’t done. And everything——” “Dot,” said Pembury, “it’s not the slightest good. You know as well as I do that it’s a question of sex. What’s sauce for the goose may be sauce for the gander—but it can’t always be served. For people to know that we were dining ’ld be bad enough, but what about the beer?” “Well, what about it?” said Dot. “What’s the matter with the truth? Remembering my affection for the beverage, you were considerate enough——” “My dear girl,” said Pembury, “it’s out of the question. You can’t parade intimate nursery incidents in a Court of Law. Possibly, if we were brother and sister——” “We are, practically. As I was telling Mr. Forsyth——”