Perhaps the most shocked of all the listeners to this unexpected tirade was Sir Harry Archdale, who, himself a victim of the unfair play carried on at “The Briars,” had been only too willing to look upon the intrusion of a black sheep there as an unhappy accident, and upon Audrey as a victim like himself of that intrusion. But, wishing as he did to take her part, he had been considerably perturbed by the opposite views of her which were commonly held among the habitués of “The Briars,” and now that she had the audacity and the bad taste to fling a direct accusation into the face of one of the most prominent men of his own set, Sir Harry at once took fire, and mindful of the fact that the man whom she accused was the father of the lovely Pamela, he stepped forward boldly, and was the very first to put a question to the angry lady. “Madame Rocada,” said he, deferentially as far as manner went, but in an offended tone, “you will, I’m sure, think it only right, when you say a thing which affects all, or almost all of us, to be more explicit. Whom do you accuse of cheating? Who are the members of the gang of swindlers you refer to?” Audrey, already trembling from the effects of her own boldness, turned to him and answered in a broken but determined voice:-- “One of them you know. His name--or the name he goes by--is Durley Diggs. He was Mr. Candover’s secretary.” “Was, not is,” retorted Mr. Candover, speaking for the first time, and as coolly as if the accusation just brought were no concern of his, though his face was very pale and his eyes wore a strange and almost glassy look. “When I heard that complaints had been made about his play I discharged him at once from my employment--as you must remember, Madame Rocada.” “Yes, Madame, you told me so yourself,” said Sir Harry. But Audrey was not to be cowed, not to be forced into retracting a word, now that she had once strung herself up to the point of open accusation. Clasping her hands tightly together, and conscious, with a fierce feeling of resentment and despair, that all these men were as fools and children in the hands of this clever scoundrel who had made a tool of herself, she made no reply to this, but, after a moment’s pause, went on doggedly:-- “Then there is a man who calls himself Johnson. There have been complaints of him.” “When?” asked Mr. Candover sharply. “Only two nights ago.” “And will you tell us where these accusations were made, and by whom?” he went on with the same provocative calmness. “They were made--the disturbance arose--about four o’clock in the morning, when cards were being played in the billiard-room at ‘The Briars,’ and they were made by more than one man.” “Were you present, Madame?” “Not in the room. But I overheard the disturbance, and I challenge any of you who were there, you, Sir Barnaby, were one, and one of the young Angmerings was another--to deny that there was a disturbance, and that Johnson was accused of cheating.”