"Oh, for a Cotrell's Ink Eraser," Minot groaned. "My man saw her down-stairs," went on Harrowby, mopping his damp forehead. "Fifty thousand she wants for the letters or she gives them to a newspaper and begins to sue--at once--to-morrow." "I suppose," said Minot, "she is the usual Gaiety girl." "Not the usual, old chap. Quite a remarkable woman. She'll do what she promises--trust her. And I haven't a farthing. Minot--it's all up now. There's no way out of this." Minot sat thinking. The telephone rang. "I won't talk to her," cried Harrowby in a panic. "I won't have anything to do with her. Minot, old chap--as a favor to me--" "The old family solicitor," smiled Minot. "That's me." He took down the receiver. But no voice that had charmed thousands at the Gaiety answered his. Instead there came over the wire, heated, raging, the tones of Mr. Henry Trimmer. "Hello--I want Allan Harrowby--ah, that's Minot talking, isn't it? Yes. Good. I want a word with you. Do you know what I think of your methods? Well, you won't now--telephone rules in the way. Think you're going to get ahead of Trimmer, do you? Think you've put one over, eh? Well--let me tell you, you're wrong. You're in for it now. You've played into my hands. Steal Lord Harrowby, will you? Do you know what that means? Publicity. Do you know what I'll do to-morrow? I'll start a cyclone in this town that--" "Good night," said Minot, and hung up. "Who was it?" Harrowby wanted to know. "Our friend Trimmer, on the war-path," Minot replied. "It seems he's missed his vaudeville partner." He sat down. "See here, Harrowby," he said--it was the first time he had dropped the prefix, "it occurs to me that an unholy lot of things are happening to spoil this wedding. So I'm going to ask you a question." "Yes." "Harrowby"--Minot looked straight into the weak, but noble eyes--"are you on the level?" "Really--I'm not very expert in your astounding language--" "Are you straight--honest--do you want to be married yourself?" "Why, Minot, my dear chap! I've told you a thousand times--I want nothing more--I never shall want anything more--" "All right," said Minot, rising. "Then go to bed and sleep the sleep of the innocent." "But where are you going? What are you going to do?" "I'm going to try and do the same." And as he went out, Minot slammed the door on a peer. Sticking above the knob of the door of 389 he found a telegram. Turning on his lights, he sank wearily down on the bed and tore it open. "It rained in torrents," said the telegram, "at the dowager duchess's garden party. You know what that means." It was signed "John Thacker." "Isn't that a devil of a night-cap?" muttered Minot gloomily. CHAPTER X TWO BIRDS OF PASSAGE