"I've got a temper," she remarked with exaggerated indifference, "it's never wise for anybody to rouse it, and many people would be annoyed if you talked to them as you're talking to me. I--simply don't think it's worth it, but can you wonder if I ask you to choose between her and me?"

The Seraph's face and voice were grave.

"The choice seems unnecessary," he said.

"You must take it from me that I have no wish to be seen about with a man who allows his name to be coupled with a woman of that kind."

"What kind, Sylvia?"

"You know my meaning."

"But your meaning is wrong."

"I mean an ugly word for an ugly sin. A woman of the kind that breaks the Seventh Commandment."

The Seraph began tearing his card in narrow strips.

"Elsie Wylton didn't," he said quietly.

"She told you so?"

"I didn't need telling."

Sylvia's expression implored pity on the credulity of man. The Seraph was still nervously fingering his card, but no signs of emotion ruffled her calm. The face was slightly flushed, but she bent her head to hide it.

"Part friends, Seraph," she said at last, "if you're not coming to the Carstens'. Think it over, and you'll find every one will give you the same advice."

"I dare say." He pocketed the torn card and prepared to accompany her.

"What would you do in my place if you believed the woman innocent?"

Sylvia shirked the question.

"Innocent women don't get into those positions."

"It is possible."

"How can she prove her innocence?"

"How do you prove her guilt?"

"I don't attempt to go behind what the Court finds."

At the door the Seraph hesitated.

"To-night's only an armistice, Sylvia," he stipulated. "I must have time to think. I'm not committed either way."

She gave him her old friendly smile.

"If you like." Then the smile melted away. "My ultimatum comes in force to-morrow morning, though. You must make up your mind then."

CHAPTER VIII

HENLEY--AND AFTER

"We shall find no fiend in hell can match the fury of a disappointed woman."--COLLEY CIBBER: "Love's Last Shift."

Henley Regatta was something of a disappointment to me. I had furbished up the memories of twenty years before--which was one mistake--and was looking forward to it--which was another. In great measure the glory had departed from the house-boats, every one poured into the town by train or car, and the growth of _ad hoc_ riverside clubs had reduced the number of punts and canoes on the river itself.

Being every inch as much a snob as my neighbour, I regretted to find Henley so deeply democratised....

I think, in all modesty, my own party was a success. Our houseboat was the "Desdemona," a fair imitation of what the papers call "a floating hotel": we brought my brother's cook from Pont Street and carried our cellar with us from town. And there was a pleasant, assiduous orchestra that neither ate nor slept in its zeal to play us all the waltzes we had grown tired of hearing in London. A Mad Hatter's luncheon started at noon and went on till midnight. Any passing boat that liked the "Desdemona's" looks, moored alongside and boarded her: no one criticised the food or cigars, many dropped in again for a second or third meal in the course of the afternoon, and if they did not know Gladys or myself, they no doubt had a friend among my guests or waiters.

Both those that slept on board and those that visited us at their stomachs' prompting were cheery, light-hearted, out to enjoy themselves. I admit my own transports were moderated by the necessity of having to dance attendance on Lady Roden. The air became charged with Rutlandshire Morningtons, and our conversation showed signs of degenerating into a fantastic Burke's Auction Bridge. Two earls counted higher than three viscounts; I called her out with one marquis, she took the declaration away with a duke, I got it back again with a Russian prince: she doubled me.... Apart from this, I enjoyed myself. All the right people turned up, except Gartside who was kept in town discussing Governorships with the India Office.

There were Rodens to right of us, Rodens to left of us: in a field behind us, unostentatiously smoking Virginia cigarettes, loitered a watchful Roden bodyguard. The Regatta started on July 3rd and on the previous day Rawnsley had given the House its time-table. There would be no Autumn Session, but the House would sit till the end of the third week in August to conclude the Third Reading of the Poor Law Bill; no fresh legislation would be introduced. The New Militants had their answer without possibility of misconstruction, and the families of Cabinet Ministers moved nowhere without a lynx-eyed, heavy-booted, plain-clothes escort.

I summoned Scotland Yard out of its damp, cheerless meadow, gave it bottled beer and a pack of cards, and told it to treat the "Desdemona"

as its own and to ring for anything likely to contribute to its comfort. Though we had never met before and were only to meet once again, I felt for those men as I should feel for any one deputed to bear up the young Rodens lest at any time they dashed their feet against stones....

Sylvia was laconic and decisive. She had engaged and defeated her father, met and routed her brothers. Any one who guarded her reckless person did so at their peril; she declined to argue the point. I fancy Lady Roden accepted a detective more or less as part of her too-often-withheld due; Philip was constitutional, guided by precedent, anxious to help peace and order in the execution of their arduous duties. The only active molestation came from Robin: left to himself he would have ignored the detectives' very existence, but at the fell suggestion of Culling I discovered him whiling away the morning by bursting into the guard-room at five-minute intervals with hysterical cries of "Save me! Oh, my God! save me!"

The saturnine, enigmatic Michael pursued his own methods. How he had escaped from Winchester in the midst of the terminal examinations, I never discovered. His telegram said, "What about me for Henley, old thing? Michael." I wired back, "Come in your thousands," and he came in a dove-grey suit, grey socks and buckskin shoes, grey tie, silk handkerchief and Homburg hat. I appreciated Michael more and more at each meeting. Of a detached family he was the most detached member.

Observing me staring a trifle unceremoniously at his neck-tie, he produced a note-book and pencil and invited my written opinion. "On Seeing my New Tie" was inscribed on the front page, and the comments--so far as I remember the figures--were:--

(1) "Oh, my God!" (forty per cent.).

(2) "_Have_ you seen Michael's tie?" (forty per cent.).

(3) "Michael _darling_!" (Sylvia's _cri de coeur_, ten per cent.).

(4) "It's a devilish good tie" (my own verdict, perhaps not altogether sincere). (Ten per cent.).

"Come and shew yer ticket o' leave," urged Culling with derisory finger outstretched to indicate the forces of law and order.

"No bloody peelers for this child," Michael answered in a voice discreetly lowered to keep the offending epithet from his sister's ears.

I noticed an exchange of glances between Culling and himself, but was too busy to think much of it at the time. Eleven minutes later, however, the majesty of Scotland Yard had been incarcerated in its own stronghold. Culling sat outside their door improvising an oratorio on an accordion. "The Philistines are upon thee," I heard him thunder as I passed that way. Michael was lying prone on the deck of the house-boat, dangling at safe distance the key of the cabin at the end of a Japanese umbrella.

"_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_" he asked, as an official hand shot impotently out of the cabin window. The question may have been imperfectly understood.

"_Sanguineos quis custodes custodiet ipsos?_" he ventured.

As there was still no answer, common humanity ordained that I should possess myself of the key and hold a gaol delivery. The detectives were near weeping with humiliation, but I comforted them in some measure, won a friendship that was to serve me in good stead, and was at length free to resume my duties as host.

From time to time perfunctory racing took place, without arousing either interest or resentment. We all had our own ways of passing the time between meal and meal; one would study the teeth and smile of a musical-comedy star, another would watch Culling at the Three Card Trick, a third would count the Jews on a neighbouring house-boat....

There was no sign of Elsie or the Seraph, but that was only to be expected. He was to provide her with luncheon and publicity at Phyllis Court, and give the "Desdemona" a wide berth. Those, at least, were his sailing orders if he came; but Elsie had been over-tired and over-excited for some weeks past, and I should not have been surprised to hear she had stayed in town at the last moment.