"That's all right. And, Morelle, when I'm married you won't be asked to spend a great deal of time at my house. You'll come when I invite you. That's straight, huh? So long." Ronald shut the door on him. XI What a mess! What a perfect hell of a mess he was in. He stood by the window, biting his nails. Suppose Beryl told? He wiped his forehead. Girls had queer ideas about their duty in that respect. He knew of cases. One of those threatening gestures which had come his way was the result of such a misguided act of confession on the part of a girl whom he had treated very handsomely indeed. A baser case of ingratitude it would be difficult to imagine. Beryl might. She had principles. Phew! He heard the trill of the telephone in François' pantry. "Mr. Moropulos," said François, emerging from his room. Ronnie scowled. "Tell him--no, put him through." He laid down his walking stick and gloves. "Yes, Moropulos--good morning--lunch? Well, I was going out to lunch with some people." Moropulos said that his business was important. "All right--oh, anywhere--one of those little places in Soho." He slammed down the instrument viciously. But this was a time to consolidate his friends and their interests. Not that Moropulos was a friend, but he was useful and might be more so. The Greek arrived at the restaurant to the minute and was looking more spruce than usual. "Have you seen Steppe?" was his first question. "I understood he was on his way to see you--he seemed angry," said Ronnie. "Our dear Steppe is always angry," answered the Greek coolly. "This time, however, he has no cause. If he has gone to my house, he will not see me." "What is the trouble?" Moropulos shrugged. "He has been informed by evil-minded people that during his absence I was--well, not to put too fine a point on it, very drunk." "And were you?" "On the contrary, at the very hour, when his spies informed him I was dancing on a table in a low part of the east end, and shouting that the Mackenzie report was a forgery--" Ronnie went pale. "Good God! You never said that?" he gasped. "Of course not. If I had, it would be a serious thing for me. I, Paul Moropulos, tell you, Ronald Morelle, that it would be a disastrous thing for me. Just now my relations with dear Jan are--er--strained. I do not wish a breach." "But surely if Steppe's men say--" "'Let them say,'" quoted Moropulos, "it is what I say, and you say, and somebody else says, that counts, for at the very moment I was supposed to be misbehaving," he emphasized his words, "I was dining with you and the lovely Miss Merville in your flat." "What! Why, that is a lie!" "What is one lie worse than another? Observe I give you the date; it was one day before the charming Miss Merville spent the night with you alone in your very beautiful flat." Had the floor collapsed, Ronald Morelle could not have received a worse shock.