"I have no wish to be rude, Lord Harrowby. But it is our turn to be a little fantastic now. Could any thing be more fantastic than boarding a yacht uninvited?" "But Miss Meyrick--on whom, after all, Mr. Jephson's fate depends--is already in Florida." "With her lamp trimmed and burning. How sad, your lordship, if some untoward event should interfere with the coming of the bridegroom." "I perceive," smiled Lord Harrowby, "that you do not share Mr. Jephson's confidence in my motives." "This is New York, and a business proposition. Every man in New York is considered guilty until he proves himself innocent--and then we move for a new trial." "Nevertheless"--Lord Harrowby's mouth hardened--"I must refuse to ask you to join me on the _Lileth_." "Would you mind telling me where the boat is anchored?" "Somewhere in the North River, I believe. I don't know, really." "You don't know? Won't it be a bit difficult--boarding a yacht when you don't know where to find it?" "My dear chap--" began Harrowby angrily. "No matter." Mr. Minot stood up. "I'll say au revoir, Lord Harrowby--until to-night." "Or until we meet in San Marco." Lord Harrowby regained his good nature. "I'm extremely sorry to be so impolite. But I believe we're going to be very good friends, none the less." "We're going to be very close to each other, at any rate," Minot smiled. "Once more--au revoir, your lordship." "Pardon me--good-by," answered Lord Harrowby with decision. And Richard Minot was again threading his way between awed tables. Walking slowly down Fifth Avenue, Mr. Minot was forced to admit that he had not made a very auspicious beginning in his new role. Why had Lord Harrowby refused so determinedly to invite him aboard the yacht that was to bear the eager bridegroom south? And what was he to do now? Might he not discover where the yacht lay, board it at dusk, and conceal himself in a vacant cabin until the party was well under way? It sounded fairly simple. But it proved otherwise. He was balked from the outset. For two hours, in the library of his club, in telephone booths and elsewhere, he sought for some tangible evidence of the existence of a wealthy American named Martin Wall and a yacht called the _Lileth_. City directories and yacht club year books alike were silent. Myth, myth, myth, ran through Dick Minot's mind. Was Lord Harrowby--as they say at the Gaiety--spoofing him? He mounted to the top of a bus, and was churned up Riverside Drive. Along the banks of the river lay dozens of yachts, dismantled, swathed in winter coverings. Among the few that appeared ready to sail his keen eye discerned no _Lileth_.