"I am here, my lord," he said, "on business. In the course of my ordinary avocations"--the parliamentary atmosphere seemed to be affecting his language--"I ascertained a certain secret in your past life which, if it were revealed, might conceivably have a not undamaging effect upon your career. For my silence in this matter I must demand a sum of fifty thousand pounds." Lord Fairlie had grown paler and paler as this speech proceeded. "What have you discovered?" he whispered. Alas! he knew only too well what the damning answer would be. "_Twenty years ago_," said Lionel, "_you wrote a humorous book._" Lord Fairlie gave a strangled cry. His keen mind recognised in a flash what a hold this knowledge would give his enemies. _Shafts of Folly_, his book had been called. Already he saw the leading articles of the future: "We confess ourselves somewhat at a loss to know whether Lord Fairlie's speech at Plymouth yesterday was intended as a supplement to his earlier work, _Shafts of Folly_, or as a serious offering to a nation impatient of levity in such a crisis...." "The Cabinet's jester, in whom twenty years ago the country lost an excellent clown without gaining a statesman, was in great form last night...." "Lord Fairlie has amused us in the past with his clever little parodies; he may amuse us in the future; but as a statesman we can only view him with disgust...." "Well?" said Lionel at last. "I think your lordship is wise enough to understand. The discovery of a sense of humour in a man of your eminence----" But Lord Fairlie was already writing out the cheque. LV. THE EXPLORER As the evening wore on--and one young man after another asked Jocelyn Montrevor if she were going to Ascot, what? or to Henley, what? or what? she wondered more and more if this were all that life would ever hold for her. Would she never meet a man, a real man who had done something? These boys around her were very pleasant, she admitted to herself; very useful, indeed, she added, as one approached her with some refreshment; but they were only boys. "Here you are," said Freddy, handing her an ice in three colours. "I've had it made specially cold for you. They only had the green, pink and yellow jerseys left; I hope you don't mind. The green part is arsenic, I believe. If you don't want the wafer I'll take it home and put it between the sashes of my bedroom window. The rattling kept me awake all last night. That's why I'm looking so ill, by-the-way." Jocelyn smiled kindly and went on with her ice. "That reminds me," Freddy went on, "we've got a nut here to-night. The genuine thing. None of your society Barcelonas or suburban Filberts. One of the real Cob family; the driving-from-the-sixth-tee, inset-on-the-right, and New-Year's-message-to-the-country touch. In short, a celebrity." "Who?" asked Jocelyn eagerly. Perhaps here was a man. "Worrall Brice, the explorer. Don't say you haven't heard of him or Aunt Alice will cry."