“I don’t believe a word of it,” she said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t,” said Sam. “True though it is, it has a phony ring. Really to digest that story, you have to know Lord Tilbury. If you had the doubtful pleasure of the acquaintance of that king of bores, you would see that I acted in the only possible way. However, if it’s too much for you, let it go, and we will approach the matter from a new angle. The whole trouble seems to be my clothes, so I will make you a sporting offer. Overlook them for the moment, give me your womanly trust and allow me to sleep on the drawing-room sofa for the rest of the night, and not only will blessings reward you but I promise you--right here and now--that in a day or two I will call at this house and let you see me in the niftiest rig-out that ever man wore. Imagine it! A brand-new suit, custom-made, silk serge linings, hand-sewed, scallops on the pocket flaps--and me inside! Is it a bet?” “No, it isn’t.” “Think well! When you first see that suit you will say to yourself that the coat doesn’t seem to sit exactly right. You will be correct. The coat will not sit exactly right. And why? Because there will be in the side pocket a large box of the very finest mixed chocolates, a present for a good girl. Come now! The use of the drawing-room for the few remaining hours of the night. It is not much to ask.” Claire shook her head inflexibly. “I’m not going to risk it,” she said. “By rights I ought to march you out into the street and hand you over to the policeman.” “And have him see you in curling pins? No, no!” “What’s wrong with my curling pins?” demanded Claire fiercely. “Nothing, nothing,” said Sam hastily. “I admire them. It only occurred to me as a passing thought----” “The reason I don’t do it is because I’m tender-hearted and don’t want to be too hard on a feller.” “It is a spirit I appreciate,” said Sam. “And would that there had been more of it abroad in London this night.” “So out you go, and don’t let me hear no more of you. Just buzz off, that’s all I ask. And be quick about it, because I need my sleep.” “I was wrong about those chocolates,” said Sam. “Silly mistake to make. What will really be in that side pocket will be a lovely diamond brooch.” “And a motor car and a ruby ring and a new dress and a house in the country, I suppose. Outside!” Sam accepted defeat. The manly spirit of the Shotters was considerable, but it could be broken. “Oh, all right, I’ll go. One of these days, when my limousine splashes you with mud, you will be sorry for this.” “And don’t bang the door behind you,” ordered the ruthless girl. CHAPTER EIGHT SAM AT MON REPOS Standing on the steps and gazing out into the blackness, Sam now perceived that in the interval between his entrance into San Rafael and his exit therefrom, the night, in addition to being black, had become wet. A fine rain had begun to fall, complicating the situation to no small extent.