both his own. "If I
wasn't afraid of him coming for me with a broomstick, I'd do the same
myself. . . ."

She shook a reproving finger at him from the door, and her face was
wreathed in smiles. "You ring when you want the tea, Mr. Vane, sir,"
she said, "and I'll bring it up to you. . . ."

She closed the door, and Vane heard the stairs creaking protestingly as
she descended. And not for the first time did he thank his lucky stars
that Fate had put him into such hands when he left Oxford. . . .

For a while he stood staring at the door with a slight frown, and then
he turned to Binks.

"I wonder, young fellow my lad," he muttered. "I wonder if I'm being
the most arrant blackguard!"

He wandered restlessly round the room taking odd books from one table
and putting them on another, only to replace them in their original
positions on the return journey. He tidied up the golf clubs and a
bundle of polo sticks, and pitched the boxing gloves under a settee in
the corner from which Binks promptly retrieved them. In fact, he
behaved as men will behave when they're waiting for the unknown--be it
the answer of a woman, or zero hour at six thirty. And at last he
seemed to realise the fact. . . .

"Oh! Hell, Binks," he laughed. "I've got it bad--right where the
boxer puts the sleep dope. . . . I think I'll just go and wash my
hands, old boy; they strike me as being unpleasantly excited. . . ."

But when he returned Binks was still exhaling vigorously at a hole in
the wainscot, behind which he fancied he had detected a sound. With
the chance of a mouse on the horizon he became like Gamaliel, and cared
for none of these things. . . .

A taxi drove up to the door, and Vane threw down the book he was
pretending to read, and listened with his heart in his mouth. Even
Binks, scenting that things were afoot, ceased to blow, and cocked his
head on one side expectantly. Then he growled, a low down, purring
growl, which meant that strangers were presuming to approach his domain
and that he reserved his judgment. . . .

"Shut up, you fool," said Vane, as he sprang across the room to the
door, which at once decided the question in Binks's mind. Here was
evidently an enemy of no mean order who dared to come where angels
feared to tread when he was about. He beat Vane by two yards, giving
tongue in his most approved style. . . .

"Down, old man, down," cried Vane, as he opened the door--but Binks had
to justify his ex