Valerie French, then, was trying to bring Lyveden into smooth water. She had already earmarked a congenial billet at The Shrubbery, Hawthorne. The difficulty was to make Anthony apply for the post. Since Mrs. Bumble could hardly be advised to ask a footman to quit the service of the Marquess of Banff, Valerie, who was determined to remain incognito, had recourse to the Press. Her advertisement for a gentleman-footman appeared daily. When my lady had drunk her tea, she turned to the telephone. After a little delay, she was connected to the Dogs' Home in Hertfordshire. Presently the superintendent spoke.... 'Miss French's Irish terrier was not too grand. He was coughing a little. There was no real cause for anxiety, but he was not out of the wood.' "I'll be down this afternoon," said Valerie. She was as good as her word. And since, to her grief, the little brown dog was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse, she visited him the next day also and the day after that. And so it happened that she was at the Home on Friday, when Patch's condition gave rise to such uneasiness as presently decided the superintendent to telephone to his master. Indeed, the fair-haired girl had discussed with Valerie the advisability of so doing. "Mr. Lyveden's a busy man, I fancy, and we hate worrying people. But he's simply devoted to the dog, and he's pretty bad." "I think," said Valerie slowly, "I think he ought to be told." "Perhaps you're right, Miss French," said the girl. "I'll go and ring up." She slipped out of the hospital, through the garden, and presently into her office. It was perhaps ten minutes before she could speak with London. Then-- "Is that Lord Banff's house?" she inquired. "Yes. Who are you?" said an unpleasant voice. "Oh, can I speak to Mr. Lyveden?" "_Who?_" "Mr. Lyveden." An exclamation of surprise came to her ears.... Then an oath.... Then a smothered laugh.... The girl frowned with impatience. At length-- "Hullo," said the voice. "Can I speak to Mr. Lyveden?" she repeated. "No, you can't. He's--he's out." "Oh! Well, it's rather important. Could you give him a message?" "Try me," said the voice. "Will you tell him that his dog is not so well?" "What dog?" "_His_ dog. His Sealyham. Mr. Lyveden will understand." "Oh, will he?" said the voice. "And where do I come in, Mabel?" For a moment the fair-haired girl stared at the instrument. Then she flushed angrily and rang off.... At the other end of the line Lord Pomfret replaced his receiver with a hideous leer. The superintendent returned to the hospital. "Did you speak to him?" said Valerie. "No, Miss French. He was out. I had to leave a message." Valerie rose to her feet.