holme had long ago established the golden rule that controversial
topics were taboo during meals. Medenham laughed outright at the
sudden change of topic. He remembered that Dale was sent to bed in the
Green Dragon Hotel at eight o'clock, and he had not the least doubt
that his father's ukase was really a dodge to secure an undisturbed
dinner. But he was under no delusions because of this placid meeting
in the breakfast-room. There was thunder in the air. Tomkinson had
warned him of it overnight.

"There's bin ructions while you were away, my lord," the butler had
whispered, waylaying him in the hall just before midnight. "Lady St.
Maur has upset the Earl somethink dreadful;" and Medenham had growled
in reply: "Her ladyship will lunch here at one o'clock to-morrow,
Tomkinson. Have an ambulance ready at two, for she will be in little
pieces before I have done with her. The mangling will be somethink
orful."

"But what has become of Dale, my lord?" went on Tomkinson in a hushed
voice.

"Dale? He is all right. Why? Is _he_ in the soup, too?"

"No, my lord. I've heard nothink of that, but he sent me a wire from
Bristol----"

"A telegram--about what?"

"About a horse."

"Oh, the deuce take you and your horses. By the way, that reminds
me--you gave me a rotten tip for the Derby."

"It was a false run race, my lord. The favorite was swep' off his feet
at Tattenham Corner, and couldn't get into his stride again till the
field was opposite Langland's Stands. After that----"

"After that I'm going to bed. But I forgive you, Tomkinson. You put up
a ripping good lunch. You're a far better butler than a tipster."

This brief conversation had illumined at least one dubious page in the
records of the past few days. Medenham realized now that his aunt had
emptied the vials of her wrath on Mrs. Devar, but, that lady being
absent in body, the Earl had received the full dose. It indicated
somewhat the line he should follow when, breakfast ended, his father
suggested that they should smoke a cigarette in the library.

Once there, and the door closed, the Earl established himself on the
hearth-rug with his back to the fireplace. It was high summer, and the
lazy London heat crept in through the open windows; but the hearth-rug
constituted a throne, a seat of Solomon; had his lordship stood
anywhere else he would have felt lacking in authority.

"Now, George, my boy, tell me all about it," he said, with a genially
paternal air