Castle. Isn't
that so? If it still belongs to Lord Dreever, don't you think you
ought to consult him before revising his list of guests?"

McEachern looked steadily at him. His manner became quieter.

"Oh, you take that tone, do you?"

"I don't know what you mean by 'that tone.' What tone would you take
if a comparative stranger ordered you to leave another man's house?"

McEachern's massive jaw protruded truculently in the manner that had
scared good behavior into brawling East Siders.

"I know your sort," he said. "I'll call your bluff. And you won't
get till to-morrow, either. It'll be now."

"'Why should we wait for the morrow? You are queen of my heart
to-night," murmured Jimmy, encouragingly.

"I'll expose you before them all. I'll tell them everything."

Jimmy shook his head.

"Too melodramatic," he said. "'I call on heaven to judge between
this man and me!' kind of thing. I shouldn't. What do you propose to
tell, anyway?"

"Will you deny that you were a crook in New York?"

"I will. I was nothing of the kind."

"What?"

"If you'll listen, I can explain--"

"Explain!" The other's voice rose again. "You talk about explaining,
you scum, when I caught you in my own parlor at three in the
morning--you--"

The smile faded from Jimmy's face.

"Half a minute," he said. It might be that the ideal course would be
to let the storm expend itself, and then to explain quietly the
whole matter of Arthur Mifflin and the bet that had led to his one
excursion into burglary; but he doubted it. Things--including his
temper--had got beyond the stage of quiet explanations. McEachern
would most certainly disbelieve his story. What would happen after
that he did not know. A scene, probably: a melodramatic
denunciation, at the worst, before the other guests; at the best,
before Sir Thomas alone. He saw nothing but chaos beyond that. His
story was thin to a degree, unless backed by witnesses, and his
witnesses were three thousand miles away. Worse, he had not been
alone in the policeman's parlor. A man who is burgling a house for a
bet does not usually do it in the company of a professional burglar,
well known to the police.

No, quiet explanations must be postponed. They could do no good, and
would probably lead to his spending the night and the next few
nights at the local police-station. And, even if he were spared that
fate, it was certain that he would have to leave the castle--leave
the castle and Molly!