A rustle of interest ran through the auditorium. The few who had recognized Harrowby turned to stare at him now. For a moment he sat silent, his face a variety of colors in the dim light. Then with a cry of rage he leaped to his feet. "You stole that letter, you cur," he cried. "You are a liar, a fraud, an impostor." The man on the stage stood shading his eyes with his hand. "Ah, Allan," he answered, "so you are here, after all? Is that quite the proper greeting--after all these years?" A roar of sympathetic applause greeted this sally. There was no doubt as to whose side Mr. Trimmer's friend, the public, was on. Harrowby stood in his place, his lips twitching, his eyes for once blazing and angry. Dick Minot was by this time escorting Miss Meyrick up the aisle, and they came quickly to the cool street. Harrowby, Paddock and Spencer Meyrick followed immediately. His lordship was most contrite. "A thousand pardons," he pleaded. "Really I can't tell you how sorry I am, Cynthia. To have made you conspicuous--what was I thinking of? But he maddened me--I--" "Don't worry, Allan," said Miss Meyrick gently. "I like you the better for being maddened." Old Spencer Meyrick said nothing, but Minot noted that his face was rather red, and his eyes were somewhat dangerous. They all walked back to the hotel in silence. From the hotel lobby, as if by prearrangement, Harrowby followed Miss Meyrick and her father into a parlor. Minot and Paddock were left alone. "My word, old top," said Mr. Paddock facetiously, "a rough night for the nobility. What do you think? That lad's story sounded like a little bit of all right to me. Eh, what?" "It did sound convincing," returned the troubled Minot. "But then--a servant at Rakedale Hall could have concocted it." "Mayhap," said Mr. Paddock. "However, old Spencer Meyrick looked to me like a volcano I'd want to get out from under. Poor old Harrowby! I'm afraid there's a rift within the loot--nay, no loot at all." "Jack," said Minot firmly, "that wedding has got to take place." "Why, what's it to you?" "It happens to be everything. But keep it under your hat." "Great Scott--does Harrowby owe you money?" "I can't explain just at present, Jack." "Oh, very well," replied Mr. Paddock. "But take it from me, old man--she's a million times too good for him." "A million," laughed Mr. Minot bitterly. "You underestimate." Paddock stood staring with wonder at his friend. "You lisp in riddles, my boy," he said. "Do I?" returned Minot. "Maybe some day I'll make it all clear." He parted from Paddock and ascended to the third floor. As he wandered through the dark passageways in search of his room, he bumped suddenly into a heavy man, walking softly. Something about the contour of the man in the dark gave him a suggestion. "Good evening, Mr. Wall," he said.