"Softly! softly! I know many things, although there is no need to swear. It's bad form, Vernon, deuced bad form. The fact is," he went on gracefully, "my aunt keeps me short of money, and I want all I can get to enjoy life. I thought as I am pretty good in finding out things about people that you might invite me to become a partner in your detective business." Vernon cast a hasty glance around. Fortunately, there were no guests under the peristyle, and only two men, out of earshot, in the pinacotheca. "You are talking rubbish," he said roughly, yet apprehensively. "I don't think so. Your father died three years ago and left you with next to nothing. Having no profession you did not know what to do, and, ashamed to beg, borrow, or steal, you turned your powers of observation to account on the side of the law against the criminal." Maunders took a card from his waistcoat pocket and passed it along. "'Nemo, Private Enquiry Agent, 22, Fenella Street, Covent Garden,' is inscribed on that card. Nemo means Nobody, I believe; yet Nemo, as I know, means Arthur Vernon of The Athenian Club." The man addressed tore the card to pieces and threw them amongst the flowers. "You talk rubbish," he said again, and still roughly. "How do you connect me with this private enquiry agent?" "Ah, that's too long a story to tell you just now." Maunders glanced at his watch. "I am due at a ball in an hour, and want the matter settled before I leave here." "What matter?" "The partnership matter." There was a pause. "Well?" "I have nothing to say," said Vernon firmly. Maunders rose. "In that case I'll cut along and go earlier than I expected to Lady Corsoon's ball." "Lady Corsoon!" Vernon changed colour and bit his lip. "Yes. She didn't ask you to her ball, did she? She wouldn't, of course, seeing that you are in love with her daughter Lucy. That young lady is to marry money, and you haven't any but what you make out of your detective business. Perhaps if I tell her that you are doing well as Nemo, she might----" By this time Vernon was on his feet. "Don't you dare, don't you dare!" he panted hoarsely, and the perspiration beaded his brow. "Oh!" Maunders raised his eyebrows. "Then it is true, after all." "Sit down," commanded Vernon savagely, resuming his own seat. "We must talk this matter out, if you please." "I came here for that purpose. Only don't keep me too late. I am engaged to Lucy for the third waltz, and must not disappoint her." Vernon winced. "You have no right to call Miss Corsoon by her Christian name." "Why not? She's not engaged to you. I love her, and, as yet--as yet, mind you, Vernon--I have as good a right as you to cut in." "I understood that you were as good as engaged to Miss Dimsdale."