He said that it was so, and then he asked a question in his turn. "You’d never guess who went with me to Sierre, Lady Delayne." "Why should I guess it?" He looked round about him and turned deliberately toward the deserted path which led to the Park Hotel. "Let’s go this way," he said evasively. "There are too many human gramophones at Andana to my way of thinking, and some of them must have known Ananias. Well, about Sierre? Sir Luton was my fellow passenger—" "My husband—then he—!" She stood quite still, and her face had become waxen in its pallor. Benny did not look at her, and recited his story to the woods upon his right hand. "Yes, Sir Luton. There was a bit of a row up at Vermala yesterday, and his temper got the better of him. They tell me he struck one of the gendarmes from Martigny; you can’t do that sort of thing with impunity hereabouts. If there’s a fuss, he’s better across the frontier, and so I told him. That’s what took him down to the town with me—I thought the climate of the lakes would suit him better for a day or two—and there he is as safe and sound as a bird in a nest. If you hear any stories, don’t you believe a word of them. It’s my advice to you to return to England to your father’s house as soon as you can do it conveniently. These foreigners make a rare hullaballoo if you lay a finger on them. They’ll ask you ten thousand questions if you’ll let them. Don’t give them the opportunity, Lady Delayne—say your father wants you back, and you are going. That’s my advice, and it’s good common sense. I’ll drive you down to Sierre this afternoon, if you like. You could catch the Simplon to-night, and be in London to-morrow; I hope you’ll let me, for if they find out that Mr. Faikes is really Sir Luton Delayne, then there’ll be no end to the trouble. Now, will your ladyship think of it?" He spoke with unwonted earnestness, as though her case were his own, and she really must be led to see the importance of it. If any other had told her such a story, Lily would have disbelieved every word of it; but here was a very apostle of candour, and who would doubt him? "Do you mean to say that I am to return to England because my husband has had a foolish quarrel with the authorities? Do you mean that, Mr. Benson?" He nodded his head almost savagely. "Foreigners are all right when you keep the right side of them. Sir Luton’s temper got the better of him, and there would have been the devil to pay if he had not cleared off. I don’t want you to be troubled about it, and so I say: Go back to England at once. I shall be stopping on here, and I can put matters right if anything is said. Don’t you think I am wise, Lady Delayne; now, really, don’t you think so?" "I think you are kind, very kind, to interest yourself in those who are comparative strangers to you. And if it was but a fracas as you say—" He laughed it off, clenching his hands and pursing his lips to the boldest lie he had ever told in all his life: