And the next moment it came. But it was not Lloyd Thomas who delivered it. From some mysterious reservoir of vitality Wilberforce Billson, the pride of Bermondsey, who an instant before had been reeling under his antagonist’s blows like a stricken hulk before a hurricane, produced that one last punch that wins battles. Up it came, whizzing straight to its mark, a stupendous, miraculous upper-cut which caught Mr. Thomas on the angle of the jaw just as he lurched forward to complete his task. It was the last word. Anything milder Llunindnno’s favourite son might have borne with fortitude, for his was a teak-like frame impervious to most things short of dynamite; but this was final. It left no avenue for argument or evasion. Lloyd Thomas spun round once in a complete circle, dropped his hands, and sank slowly to the ground. There was one wild shout from the audience, and then a solemn hush fell. And in this hush Ukridge’s voice spoke once more in my ear. “I say, laddie, that blighter Previn has bolted with every penny of the receipts!” The little sitting-room of Number Seven Caerleon Street was very quiet and gave the impression of being dark. This was because there is so much of Ukridge and he takes Fate’s blows so hardly that when anything goes wrong his gloom seems to fill a room like a fog. For some minutes after our return from the Oddfellows’ Hall a gruesome silence had prevailed. Ukridge had exhausted his vocabulary on the subject of Mr. Previn; and as for me, the disaster seemed so tremendous as to render words of sympathy a mere mockery. “And there’s another thing I’ve just remembered,” said Ukridge, hollowly, stirring on his sofa. “What’s that?” I enquired, in a bedside voice. “The bloke Thomas. He was to have got another twenty pounds.” “He’ll hardly claim it, surely?” “He’ll claim it all right,” said Ukridge, moodily. “Except, by Jove,” he went on, a sudden note of optimism in his voice, “that he doesn’t know where I am. I was forgetting that. Lucky we legged it away from the hall before he could grab me.” “You don’t think that Previn, when he was making the arrangements with Thomas’s manager, may have mentioned where you were staying?” “Not likely. Why should he? What reason would he have?” “Gentleman to see you, sir,” crooned the aged female at the door. The gentleman walked in. It was the man who had come to the dressing-room to announce that Thomas was in the ring; and though on that occasion we had not been formally introduced I did not need Ukridge’s faint groan to tell me who he was. “Mr. Previn?” he said. He was a brisk man, direct in manner and speech. “He’s not here,” said Ukridge. “You’ll do. You’re his partner. I’ve come for that twenty pounds.” There was a painful silence. “It’s gone,” said Ukridge. “What’s gone?”