“He isn’t a man I should care to have for an enemy,” Baker declared.

“Well, we’ll shake the truth out of you fellows, somehow or other,” one of the group threatened.  “On Friday morning we are going to have the whole truth—­none of this Masonic secrecy which Baker indulged in last year.”

The men drifted in to luncheon and Francis, leaving them, took a taxi on to the Ritz.  Looking about in the vestibule for Margaret, he came face to face with Lady Cynthia.  She was dressed with her usual distinction in a gown of yellow muslin and a beflowered hat, and was the cynosure of a good many eyes.

“One would almost imagine, Lady Cynthia,” he said, as they exchanged greetings, “that you had found that elixir we were talking about.”

“Perhaps I have,” she answered, smiling.  “Are you looking for Margaret?  She is somewhere about.  We were just having a chat when I was literally carried off by that terrible Lanchester woman.  Let’s find her.”

They strolled up into the lounge.  Margaret came to meet them.  Her smile, as she gave Francis her left hand, transformed and softened her whole appearance.

“You don’t mind my having asked Cynthia to lunch with us?” she said.  “I really couldn’t get rid of the girl.  She came in to see me this morning the most aggressively cheerful person I ever knew.  I believe that she had an adventure last night.  All that she will tell me is that she dined and danced at Claridge’s with a party of the dullest people in town.”

A tall, familiar figure passed down the vestibule.  Lady Cynthia gave a little start, and Francis, who happened to be watching her, was amazed at her expression.

“Your father, Margaret!” she pointed out.  “I wonder if he is lunching here.”

“He told me that he was lunching somewhere with a South American friend—­one of his partners, I believe,” Margaret replied.  “I expect he is looking for him.”

Sir Timothy caught sight of them, hesitated for a moment and came slowly in their direction.

“Have you found your friend?” Margaret asked.

“The poor fellow is ill in bed,” her father answered.  “I was just regretting that I had sent the car away, or I should have gone back to Hatch End.”

“Stay and lunch with us,” Lady Cynthia begged, a little impetuously.

“I shall be very pleased if you will,” Francis put in.  “I’ll go and tell the waiter to enlarge my table.”

He hurried off.  On his way back, a page-boy touched him on the arm.

“If you please, sir,” he announced, “you are wanted on the telephone.”

“I?” Francis exclaimed.  “Some mistake, I should think.  Nobody knows that I am here.”

“Mr. Ledsam,” the boy said.  “This way, sir.”

Francis walked down the vestibule to the row of telephone boxes at the further end.  The attendant who was standing outside, indicated one of them and motioned the boy to go away.  Francis stepped inside.  The man followed, closing the door behind him.