"But there's one comfort about that," Wilbrow pursued cheerfully: "whatever the temptation, you won't give 'em anything but sound, sane, workmanlike stuff. You've proved yourself one of the two or three, at most, playwrights in this country who are able to think and to make an audience think without losing sight of the fact that, in the last analysis, 'the play's the thing.' We've got plenty of authors nowadays who can turn out first-chop melodrama, and we've got a respectable percentage of 'em who write plays so full of honest and intelligent thought that it gives the average manager a headache to look at the 'script; but the men who can give us the sort of drama that not only makes you think but holds you on the front edge of your seat waiting to see what's coming next.... Well, they're few and far between, and you're one of 'em, and I'm proud to have had a hand in putting you before the public!" "You've got nothing on me, there," Matthias grinned: "I'm proud you had. And if I can get my own way after this--" "You don't need to join the I-Should-Worries on account of that!" "You'll be the only man who will ever produce one of my plays." Between one o'clock and two they parted. Matthias trudged home, completely fagged in body, but with a buoyant heart to sustain him. Venetia would be glad for him.... He was ascending the steps of Number 289 when a heavy touring-car, coming from the direction of Longacre Square, swung in to the curb and stopped. Latch-key in hand, Matthias paused and looked back in some little surprise: the lodgers of Madame Duprat were a motley lot, but as far as he knew none of them were of the class that maintains expensive automobiles. But this car, upon inspection, proved to be tenanted by the chauffeur alone; who, leaving the motor purring, jumped smartly from his seat and ran up the steps. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, touching his cap, "but I'm looking for a gentleman named Matthias--" "I am Mr. Matthias." "Thank you, sir. I've been sent to fetch you. It's--er--important, I fancy," the man added, eyeing Matthias curiously. "You've been sent to fetch me? But who sent you?" "My employer, sir--Mr. Marbridge." "Marbridge!" Matthias echoed, startled. Without definite decision, he turned and ran down the steps in company with the chauffeur: Venetia in need of him, perhaps.... "What's happened?" he demanded. "Is Mrs. Marbridge--?" "If you'll just get in, sir," the man replied, "I'll tell you--as much as I know--on the way. It'll save time." He opened the door of the tonneau, but Matthias turned from it, walked round the car, and climbed into the seat beside the driver's. With a nod of satisfaction, the chauffeur joined him, threw in the power, and deftly swung the ponderous vehicle about. "Well?" Matthias asked as the machine shot across-town. "Beg pardon, sir," the man replied after a moment--"but I'd rather not say anything, if it's all the same to you."