"Then I should retire from business before you waste any more money," said Cassis with surprising venom. But Mr. Torrington did not resent the remark since he knew how nerves affect certain dispositions. The arrival of Lord Almont Frayne, resplendent from the Opera, relieved the situation of tension. It would have taken a very practised eye to detect anxiety under the mask of bored and elegant indifference he had assumed. He apologised for being late, but had been button-holed by a fellow in the foyer who wanted to talk polo. Very disappointing evening altogether. The prima donna had sung flat and an understudy was on for Tenor's part. It was only as an after thought he mentioned the object of their meeting and he touched upon it in the lightest vein. "Nothing doing?" "Nothing." "Ah! well, it's early yet. Hot ain't it? Mind if I get myself a peg?" He was crossing to the decanter when he stopped, drew an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table before Mr. Torrington. "What do you make of that?" he asked. "Came early this morning, no post mark--nothing--just slipped through the box." Hilbert Torrington took from the envelope a single flower pressed almost flat. It was a dog rose. "Odd," he muttered, "distinctly odd." He weighed the flower in his hand and sniffed the envelope critically. It had no scent. "You have no one, Almont--I mean, there isn't anyone who'd be likely to--Well, you're a young man." "Oh, Lord! no, nothing of that kind." And Almont's inflection suggested that the very idea of such a thing caused him pain. Hilbert Torrington pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling. "What does a dog rose suggest to you, Cassis?" "A silly interruption," replied that gentleman sourly. "Yes, yes, but was there not--dear me, it's so long ago I've almost forgotten--was there not some floral Lingua Franca--Ah! the language of flowers." Cassis snorted, but Cranbourne was at the book shelves in an instant. "It's printed at the back of dictionaries," he said. "Here's one!" He took out a volume and turned over the pages as he spoke. "This is it. Rose--Love. Yellow rose--jealousy. White rose--I am worthy of you. Dog rose--Hope." "Hope," repeated Mr. Torrington. Lord Almont struck the table and sprang to his feet. "By God!" he cried. "Barraclough's going to win through." In the midst of a babel of tongues the telephone rang imperatively. Mr. Torrington picked up the receiver. "Yes, yes," he said. "Who? You are speaking for Mr. Van Diest." The three other men came instantly to attention and exchanged glances. There was a pause. Then Mr. Torrington said: "Indeed! Oh, very well--delightful," and he replaced the receiver. "What's happened?" Almont demanded. "I don't entirely know. But it appears that Van Diest and his amiable colleague Hipps, are shortly paying us a visit--here." There was a moment of consternation. "But Good Lord!" exclaimed Cranbourne. "That may mean anything."