"Lucky," murmured Gerald Wade, as he pushed back his chair and came over to the fireplace to join the others. "Lucky, she calls it. That woman wants watching." Lady Coote was gathering up notes and silver. "I know I'm not a good player," she announced in a mournful tone which nevertheless held an undercurrent of pleasure in it. "But I'm really very lucky at the game." "You'll never be a bridge player, Maria," said Sir Oswald. "No, dear," said Lady Coote. "I know I shan't. You're always telling me so. And I do try so hard." "She does," said Gerald Wade _sotto voce_. "There's no subterfuge about it. She'd put her head right down on your shoulder if she couldn't see into your hand any other way." "I know you try," said Sir Oswald. "It's just that you haven't any card sense." "I know, dear," said Lady Coote. "That's what you're always telling me. And you owe me another ten shillings, Oswald." "Do I?" Sir Oswald looked surprised. "Yes. Seventeen hundred--eight pounds ten. You've only given me eight pounds." "Dear me," said Sir Oswald. "My mistake." Lady Coote smiled at him sadly and took up the extra ten-shilling note. She was very fond of her husband, but she had no intention of allowing him to cheat her out of ten shillings. Sir Oswald moved over to a side table and became hospitable with whisky and soda. It was half-past twelve when general good-nights were said. Ronny Devereux, who had the room next door to Gerald Wade's, was told off to report progress. At a quarter to two he crept round tapping at doors. The party, pyjamaed and dressing-gowned, assembled with various scuffles and giggles and low whispers. "His light went out about twenty minutes ago," reported Ronny in a hoarse whisper. "I thought he'd never put it out. I opened the door just now and peeped in, and he seems sound off. What about it?" Once more the clocks were solemnly assembled. Then another difficulty arose. "We can't all go barging in. Make no end of a row. One person's got to do it and the others can hand him the what-nots from the door." Hot discussion then arose as to the proper person to be selected. The three girls were rejected on the grounds that they would giggle. Bill Eversleigh was rejected on the grounds of his height, weight and heavy tread, also for his general clumsiness, which latter clause he fiercely denied. Jimmy Thesiger and Ronny Devereux were considered possibles, but in the end an overwhelming majority decided in favour of Rupert Bateman. "Pongo's the lad," agreed Jimmy. "Anyway, he walks like a cat--always did. And then, if Gerry should waken up, Pongo will be able to think of some rotten silly thing to say to him. You know, something plausible that'll calm him down and not rouse his suspicions." "Something subtle," suggested the girl Socks thoughtfully. "Exactly," said Jimmy.