party at Number 402," I insisted. "The thing's
impossible."

"Very well, then; I'm a liar, and that ends it." He wheeled again and
began to walk his horse sullenly forward. "'Oo's blind this time?" he
demanded, coming to a standstill in front of the house.

An awning stretched down from the front door and across the pavement,
where two policemen guarded the alighting guests from pressure by a small
but highly curious crowd. Overhead, the first-floor windows had been
flung wide; the rooms within were aflame with light; and, as I grasped the
rail of the splashboard, and, straightening myself up, gazed over the
cab-roof with a wild surmise into the driver's face, a powerful but
invisible string band struck up the 'Country Girl' Lancers!

"'Oo's a liar now?" He jerked his whip towards the number "402" staring
down at me from the illuminated pane above the awning.

"But it 'is my own house!" I gasped.

"Hoh?" said he. "Well, it _may_ be. _I_ don't conteraddict."

"Here, give me my bag!" I fumbled in my pocket for his fare.

"Cook giving a party? Well, you're handy for the Wild West out here--good
old Earl's Court!" He jerked his whip again towards the awning as a North
American Indian in full war-paint passed up the steps and into the house,
followed by the applause of the crowd.

I must have overpaid the man extravagantly, for his tone changed suddenly
as he examined the coins in his hand. "Look here, guvnor, if you want any
little 'elp, I was barman one time at the 'Elephant'--"

But I caught up my bag, swung off the step, and, squeezing between a
horse's wet nose and the back of a brougham, gained the pavement, where a
red-baize carpet divided the ranks of the crowd.

"Hullo!" One of the policemen put out a hand to detain me.

"It's all right," I assured him; "I belong to the house." It seemed a
safer explanation than that the house belonged to me.

"Is it the ices?" he asked.

But I ran up the porchway, eager to get to grips with Trewlove.

On the threshold a young and extremely elegant footman confronted me.

"Where is Trewlove?" I demanded.

The footman was glorious in a tasselled coat and knee-breeches, both of
bright blue. He wore his hair in powder, and eyed me with suspicion if
not with absolute disfavour.

"Where is Trewlove?" I repeated, dwelling fiercely on each syllable.

The ass became lightly satirical. "Well we may wonder," said he; "search
the wide world over! But reely