the papers, attend one or two sessions
of the convention, which lasts three days, and then go off into the
mountains with the Rodneys,--the society reporters will do the rest."

"With the Rodneys? My dear fellow, suppose that they object to the
substitution! Really, you know, it's not to be thought of."

"Deuce take it, man, the Rodneys are not to know that there has been a
substitution. Perfectly simple, can't you see?"

"I'm damned if I do."

"What a stupid ass you are, Brock! The Rodneys have never laid eyes on
me. They know of me as Edith's husband, that's all. They are to take you
in as Medcroft, of course."

At this point Brock set up an emphatic remonstrance. He began by
laughing his friend to scorn; then, as Medcroft persisted, went so far
as to take him severely to task for the proposed imposition on the
unsuspecting Rodneys, to say nothing of the trick he would play upon the
convention of architects.

"I'd be recognised as an impostor," he said warmly, "and booted out of
the convention. I shudder to think of what Mr. Rodney will do to me when
he learns the truth. Why, Medcroft, you must be crazy. There will be
dozens of architects there who know you personally or by sight. You--"

"My dear boy, if they don't see me there, they can't very well
recognise me, can they? If necessary, you can affect an illness and stay
away from the sessions altogether. Give a statement to the press from
the privacy of the sickroom--regret your inability to take part in the
discussions, and all that, you know. Hire a nurse, if necessary. You
might venture to express an opinion or two on vital topics, in my name.
I don't care a hang what you say. I only want 'em to think I'm there. No
doubt our enemies will have a spy or two hanging about to see that I am
actually off for a jaunt with the Rodneys, but they will be Viennese and
they won't know me from Adam. What's the odds, so long as Edith is there
to stand by you? If she's willing to assume that you are her husband--"

"Good Lord!" half shouted Brock, leaping to his feet, wide-eyed. "You
don't mean to say that she is--is--is to go to Vienna with me?"

"Emphatically, yes. She's also invited. Of course, she's going."

"You mean that she's going just as you are going--by proxy?" murmured
Brock helplessly.

"Proxy, the devil! 'Pon my soul, Brock, you're downright stupid. She
can't have a proxy. They know her. The Rodneys are in some way
connections of hers, and all that--th