"Don't dare to answer me," raved the other. "I won't have it. Listen to me. My mother doesn't approve of servants who stay out all night--even if they are gentlemen. I'll bet you're ready to pitch a hell of a tale, but it's no good, Lyveden. D'you hear? It's no good. You see, I answered the telephone on Friday, when your lady-friend rang up about the dog.... I know that dog, Lyveden, I've had one myself. And, what's more, I happened to be at Marylebone this morning.... Yes. That was a bit of bad luck, wasn't it? So next time you want a week-end----" Anthony hit him full on the mouth. The other reeled backward, tripped over a rug, and fell heavily. He was up in an instant, and came at Anthony, bellowing like a madman. Anthony, who was now quite cool, hit him between the eyes. For the second time Lord Pomfret went down. Again he got up, to hurl himself at his assailant, mouthing obscenity. Anthony side-stepped and hit him under the jaw as hard as he could. Lord Pomfret fell flat on his back and lay perfectly still.... The silence was broken by the sound of a dry laugh. Anthony swung on his heel, to see the Marquess of Banff in the library doorway. "He's got a lot to learn yet," observed that nobleman, glancing at his recumbent offspring. "A deuce of a lot." He put up his eyeglasses and stared at Anthony. "If I'd known you could box, you should have given him a hour a day. Too late now. You'll have to go, of course. What are your wages?" "Six pounds a month, my lord," stammered Anthony. The Marquess took out a note-case and extracted six notes. "Does he owe you anything?" he said, peering. "No, my lord." In silence the money passed. "Better get out at once," said the Marquess shortly. "I'm--I'm very sorry, my lord, that this should have happened." "Tck! I heard what he said. I don't blame you. If you want a reference, you can give my name. That'll do." Anthony bowed and left him. The sprawling figure was showing signs of life. He passed through the hall quickly. Half an hour later, his baggage in hand, he descended the kitchen stairs. At the foot of these he encountered the second footman. "'Elp!" said the latter. "Don' say you've got the bird, mate?" "Got it in one," said Anthony. "But 'oo----" "The Marquess." The fellow exploded. "It's a perishin' shame!" he cried. "It's a----" Anthony stopped him. "No. He treated me handsomely. I--I bought it." "You didn't never sauce 'im, mate?"--incredulously. "Not exactly. You'll see." He put out his hand. "So long." The other stared at the fingers before accepting them. Then-- "So long, mate," he said dazedly. Anthony let himself out. The second footman's inability to comprehend the matter continued until a quarter-past one. It was at that hour that he did as he had been told, and carried Lord Pomfret's luncheon up to his room.... The condition of his lordship's countenance was most illuminating. CHAPTER III. THE VOICE OF THE TURTLE