_Lady Cantire._ I am not in the habit of making mistakes, Rupert. I don't know what you and Albinia and Maisie may know that I am in ignorance of, but, since you seem to have been aware from the first that Mr. Spurrell was not the poet you had invited here to meet me, will you kindly explain what has become of the _real_ author? _Sir Rupert._ My dear Rohesia, I don't know and I don't _care_! _Lady Cantire._ There you are _wrong_, Rupert, because it's obvious that if he is not Mr. Spurrell, the real poet's absence has to be accounted for in _some_ way. _Spurrell._ By Jove, I believe I can put you on the track. I shouldn't wonder if he's the party these dress clothes of mine belong to! I dare say you may have noticed they don't look as if they were made for me? _Lady Cantire_ (_closing her eyes_). Pray let us avoid any sartorial questions! We are waiting to hear about this person. _Spurrell._ Well, I found I'd got on his things by mistake, and I went up as soon as I could after dessert to my room to take 'em off, and there he was, with a waste-paper basket on his head---- _Lady Cantire._ A waste-paper basket on his head! And pray what should he have _that_ for? _Spurrell._ I'm no wiser than your ladyship _there_. All _I_ know is he said he wouldn't take it off till he saw me. And I never saw any one in such a mess with ink and flour as he was! _Lady Cantire._ Ink and flour, indeed! This rigmarole gets more ridiculous every moment! You can't seriously expect any one here to believe it! [ARCHIE _discreetly retires to the smoking-room_. _Spurrell._ Well, I rather think somebody must have fixed up a booby-trap for _me_, you know, and he happened to go in first and get the benefit of it. And he was riled, very naturally, thinking _I_'d done it, but after we'd had a little talk together, he calmed down and said I might keep his clothes, which I thought uncommonly good-natured of him, you know. By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if your ladyship would like to see it. [_He hands it to_ Lady CULVERIN. _Lady Culverin._ "Mr. Undershell!"... Rohesia, that _is_ Clarion Blair! I knew it was _something_ ending in "ell." (_To_ SPURRELL.) And you say Mr. Undershell is here--in this house? _Spurrell._ Not now. He's gone by this time. _The Others_ (_in dismay_). Gone! _Spurrell._ He said he was leaving at once. If he'd only told me how it was, I'd have---- _Lady Cantire._ I don't believe a single word of all this! If Mr. Spurrell is not Clarion Blair, let him explain how he came to be coming down to Wyvern this afternoon! _Spurrell._ If your ladyship doesn't really know, you had better ask Sir Rupert; _he'll_ tell you it's all right. _Lady Cantire._ Then perhaps _you_ will be good enough to enlighten us, Rupert? _Sir Rupert_ (_driven into a corner_). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to say that I'm just as much in the dark as anybody else, if it comes to that!