The cloth was drawn at length, as the host’s whim was, the decanters and glittering glass stood on a brown glistening lake of polished oak, with here and there a dash of fruit to give a more vivid touch of colour. Hafid handed round a silver cigarette-box, a cedar cigar cabinette on wheels was pushed along the table. Over the shaded electric lights a blue wrack of smoke hung. The silver chime struck twelve. "Hafid; you have made Mr. Manfred comfortable?" Frobisher asked. Hafid replied that he had done all that a man could do. Mr. Manfred was reclining in the dark near an open window. All the other servants but himself had retired. The butler had seen that everything necessary was laid out in the smoking-room. "Always send the servants to bed as soon as possible," Frobisher explained. "What with the spread of modern journalism, I find it necessary. You never know nowadays how far one’s butler is interested in the same stock that you are deeply dipped in. And a long-eared footman has changed the course of diplomacy before now." "If everybody pursued the same policy, George," Baron Jessop murmured, "I and my learned friends of the Bench would have more or less of a sinecure." "And Lord Saltaur, yonder would not have lost a beautiful wife," Lefroy said loudly. A sudden hush seemed to smite the table. Lord Saltaur whitened to his lips under his tan; his long, lean hands gripped the edge of the table passionately. His own domestic scandal had been so new, so painful, that the whole party stood aghast at the brutality of the insult. "Frobisher," Saltaur said, hoarsely. "It is not pleasant to be insulted by a blackguard——" "What was that word?" Lefroy asked quite sweetly. "My hearing may be a trifle deficient, but I fancied his lordship said something about a blackguard." Frobisher interfered as in duty bound. As a matter of fact he was enjoying the situation. Lefroy had drunk deeply, but then he had seen Lefroy’s amazing prowess in that direction too many times for any fears as to his ultimate equilibrium. No, Lefroy was playing some deep game. As yet only the first card had been laid upon the table. "I think that the apology lies with you, Count," Frobisher said tentatively. "A mere jest," Lefroy said, airily. "A _jeu d’esprit_. Lord Saltaur’s wife." "You hound!" Saltaur cried passionately. "Whatever I have been, you might leave the name of a pure woman out of your filthy conversation. If you don’t apologise at once, I’ll thrust your words down your throat for you." A contemptuous reply came from Lefroy. There was a flash of crystal and a glass shattered on the Count’s dark face, leaving a star-shaped wound on his cheek. A moment later and he and Saltaur were struggling together like wild animals. Frobisher had so far forgotten himself as to lean back in his chair as if this were a mere exhibition got up for his entertainment. "Is this part of the evening’s amusement, Sir Clement?" the judge asked coldly.