Carlton House Terrace had a depressing, derelict appearance that foreboded the departure of its lord. All the favourite pictures and ornaments seemed to have been stowed away in preparation for India, neat piles of books were distributed about the library floor, and every scrap of paper seemed to have been tidied into a drawer. We sat down a pleasant party of three, and I made the acquaintance of Gartside's cousin and aide-de-camp, Lord Raymond Sturling. An agreeable fellow he seemed, who put himself and his services entirely at my disposal in the event of my deciding to come for a part or all of the way. I could only avail myself of his offer to the extent of sending him to see if Mountjoy's villa at Rimini was still in the market, and if so what his figure was for giving me immediate possession.

Gartside himself was as hospitable as ever in offering me every available inch on the yacht for the accommodation of myself and any friends I might care to bring with me. I ran through the list and found myself wondering if Maybury-Reynardson could be persuaded to come. I had hardly known him long enough to call him a friend, but he had gone out of his way to oblige me in coming to attend Joyce, and on general principles I think most big London practitioners are the better for a few days at sea at the close of the London season.

I called round in Cavendish Square for a cup of tea, and told him he was pulled down and in need of a change.

"Look at the good it did my brother," I said. "Just to Marseilles and back. Or if you'll come to Genoa and overland to Rimini, I shall be very glad to put you up for as long as you can stay. It's Gartside's own yacht, and I'm authorised by him to invite whom I please. He's a capital host, and you'll be done to a turn. The only fault I have to find with his arrangements is that he carries no doctor, and I'm sufficiently middle-aged to be fussy on a point like that. Anybody taken ill, you know, anybody coming on board ill, and it would be devilish awkward. I shall insist on a doctor. He'll be Gartside's guest, but I shall pay his fees, of course, and he can name his own figure. What do you think of the idea? We shall be to all intents and purposes a bachelor party."

When Maybury-Reynardson's name was first mentioned to me on the evening of Joyce's flight, the Seraph had justly described him as a "sportsman." Under the grave official mask I could see a twinkling eye and a flickering smile.

"It depends on one case of nervous breakdown that I've got on hand at present," he said. "If my patient's well enough...."

"She's got to be," I said.

"When do you sail?"

"Friday."

"You can't make it later?"

"Absolutely impossible."

"This is Sunday. I'll tell you when we're a little nearer the day."

"She must be moved on Thursday afternoon."

"Must? Must?" he repeated with a smile. "Whose patient is she?"

"Whose wife's she going to be?" I asked in my turn.

"I suppose it'll be pretty hot," he said. "First week in August. I must get some thin clothes."

"Include them in the fee," I suggested.

"Damn the fee!" he answered, as we walked to the door.

Paddy Culling had arranged to give Nigel his dinner at eight. I had comfortable time to dress and dine at Adelphi Terrace, and nine-thirty found me wandering round the Club in search of company.

"Praise heaven for the sight of a friendly face!" I exclaimed as I stumbled across Paddy and Nigel in the North Smoking Room.

"Where was ut ye dined?" asked Paddy, as I pulled up a chair and rang for cigars. To a practised ear his brogue was an eloquent war signal.

"In the sick-house," I told him, "Adelphi Terrace."

"Is ut catching?" he inquired. "It's not for my own self I'm asking, but Nigel here. I owe ut to empire and postherity to see he runs no risks."

I reassured him on the score of posterity.

"He's just knocked up and over-tired," I said, "and I'm keeping him in bed till Wednesday or Thursday."

"Then he'll not be walking ye into the Lake District to find Miss Mavis for the present," Paddy observed with an eye on Nigel.

"He'll be walking nowhere till Wednesday at earliest," I said with great determination.

Paddy cut a cigar, and assumed an air of dissatisfaction.

"I'd have ye remember the days of grace," he grumbled.

I shrugged my shoulders without answering.

"Where's me pound of flesh?" he demanded. "Manin' no disrispec' to Miss Mavis," he added apologetically to Nigel.

"I'm afraid I can't help you to find her," I said.

"Can the Seraph?"

"I don't suppose so. In any case he can do nothing for the present."

Paddy returned to his cigar and we smoked in silence till Nigel picked up the threads where they had been dropped.

"You say Aintree's ill," he began cautiously. "If I were disposed to regard the time of illness as so many _dies non_, would he be in a position to find my sister by the end of the week?"

"Frankly, I see no likelihood."

"It's an extra five days."

"What good can they do? Or five weeks for that matter?"

"You should know best."

"I have no more idea where your sister is than you have, and no better means of finding out."

"And Aintree?"

"In speaking for myself, I spoke for him. If he knew or had any means of finding out he'd tell me."

Paddy flicked the ash off his cigar and entered the firing line.

"When the days of grace have expired, ye'll have yer contract unfulfilled?"

"And we shall be prepared to face the consequences."

"Och, yer be damned! Is the Seraph?"

"He can't help himself." I had sowed sufficient good seed and saw no profit in staying longer. "I shall see you both to-morrow at noon?"

"Not me," said Paddy. "I've searched the place once."

"You, Nigel?"