Excerpt: ...apologies. "But I had no idea that there was anyone here! A thousand pardons, Mr. Wyndham! It was unfortunate-but very unfortunate. I am come only for Mr. Mordaunt's keys, which he left here by accident. I will ring for Holmes. He will remove this debris. And you will have another drink, yes?" "I can't wait," Rupert said, almost inarticulately. He remained standing at the table trying to compose himself, but he was white to the lips. Bertrand regarded him with quick concern. "Ah, but how I have alarmed you!" he said. "My shoes are of canvas, and they make no sound. Will you, then, sit down for a moment, while I pour out another glass of whisky?" He drew forward a chair with much solicitude, and took up a fresh glass. But Rupert swung away, turning his back upon him. Prom the front of the house came the hoot of the waiting motor. Plainly his comrades were waxing impatient. "But you will drink before you go?" urged the courteous Frenchman. "I am desolated to have deprived you-" Rupert turned his face for an instant over his shoulder. It was no longer white, but crimson and convulsed with anger. His hands were clenched. "Oh, go to the devil!" he cried violently, and with the words stamped furiously from the room. Bertrand was left staring after him, petrified with amazement-too astounded to be angry. At the end of a lengthy pause he turned and pocketed Mordaunt's keys, and rang the bell for Holmes to clear up the mess on the floor. "Mais ces anglais!" he murmured to himself, with a whimsical shrug of the shoulders. "Comme ils sont droles!" CHAPTER VII THE ENEMY Mrs. Pouncefort's garden-party was an annual affair of some importance to which everyone, from the County downwards, was bidden, and from which very few absented themselves. The Pouncefort entertainments were generally upon a lavish scale, were also largely attended by the military element of Sandacre society, and were invariably described in the local journals as "very smart affairs...".