But the Colonel interrupted these delightful inanities by offering his arm to Lady Danby and showing her to the seat of honour on his right. The other ladies were distributed as impartially as was possible amongst the remaining twenty-four of us. We stood for a moment with bowed heads while our chaplain repeated that concise but effective military grace: "For what we are about to receive, thank God!" and then we took our seats. The dinner was progressing splendidly. Wilson hadn’t spilled the soup; René hadn’t tripped over the rug; course after course had proceeded under Granger’s worried eye with daintiness and despatch. The _sole meuniere_ was done to a turn, the roast pheasant and asparagus had been voted superb, and the ice-cold salad a refreshing interlude. Even the plum pudding, with its flaming sauce, had been transported without accident to the guests, when Reggy beckoned with a motion of the head to Granger, and whispered something in his ear. Granger was the best lad in the world when he wasn’t disturbed, but if he became excited anything might happen. The order was transmitted to René, and in a moment the murder was out. Whether through misunderstanding, or René’s secret pride in its possession, Reggy’s cheese had been excavated, and before it was possible to interfere, its carcase was upon the table! The scent of hyacinth and lilies-of-the-valley faded on the instant; the delicate charm of _poudre de riz_ was obliterated and all the delicious odours of the meal were at once submerged in that wonderful, pungent, all-embracing emanation from the cheese. The colonel turned first red, then pale. He cast an appealing glance at Reggy—it was too late. The rest of us glared surreptitiously and silently at the culprit. An inspiration seized him. Unobserved, he signalled the mess president, who rose to his feet on the instant. "Mr. Vice—The King!" he commanded. "Ladies and gentlemen—The King!" came the formal but inspiring reply. The cheese was forgotten. We were upon our feet, and lifting our glasses we drank to our sovereign. Cigars and cigarettes were passed around, and we waited patiently until the colonel lighted his cigar—for no one smokes at mess until the O.C. has set the example, or given his permission. The offending element had been quickly but quietly removed from the table, and once more peace and happiness prevailed. But Reggy’s fate as Mess Secretary was sealed! *CHAPTER XI*