“Well?”

“You are probably her confidant in the unfortunate differences which have arisen between us?”

“If I were, I should not consider it my business to inform you.”

“Your sympathy is without doubt on her side?”

Wingate changed his attitude.

“Look here,” he said, “this subject is not of my choosing.  I should have preferred to avoid it.  Since you press me, however, I haven’t the faintest hesitation in saying that I look upon your wife as one of the sweetest and best women I ever knew, married, unfortunately, to a person utterly unworthy of her.”

Dredlinton started in his place.  A little streak of colour flushed up to his eyes.

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

“Look here,” Wingate expostulated, “you can’t threaten me, Dredlinton.  You asked for what you got.  Why not save time and explain why you have dragged your wife’s name into this business?”

Dredlinton, in his peculiar way, was angry.  His speech was a little broken, his eyes glittered.

“Explain?  My God, I will!  You are one of those damned frauds, Wingate, who pose as a purist and don’t hesitate to make capital out of the harmless differences which sometimes arise between husband and wife.  You sympathise with Lady Dredlinton, eh?”

“I should sympathise with any woman who was your wife,” Wingate assured him, his own temper rising.

Dredlinton leaned a little forward.  He spoke with a vicious distinctness.

“You sympathise with her to such an extent that you lure her to your rooms at midnight and send her back when you’ve—­”

Dredlinton’s courage oozed out before he had finished his speech.  Wingate had swung around towards his companion, and there was something terrifying in his attitude.

“You scoundrel!” he exclaimed.

Dredlinton drew a little farther back and kept his finger upon the bell.

“Look here,” he said viciously, “you may as well drop those heroics.  I am not talking at random.  My wife was seen in your arms, in your rooms at the Milan Court, with her dressing case on the table, last night, by little Flossie Lane, your latest conquest in the musical comedy world.  She spent the night at the Milan.”

“It’s a lie!” Wingate declared, with cold fury.  “How the devil could Flossie Lane see anything of the sort?  She was nowhere near my rooms.”

“Oh, yes, she was!” Dredlinton assured him.  “She just looked in—­one look was quite enough.  Didn’t you hear the door slam?”

“My God!” Wingate muttered, with a sudden instinct of recollection.

“Perhaps you wonder why she came?” the other continued.  “I will tell you.  I followed my wife to the Milan—­I thought it might be worth while.  I saw her enter the lift and come up to your room.  While I was hesitating as to what to do, I met Flossie.  Devilish clever idea of mine!  I determined to kill two birds with one stone.  I told her you’d been enquiring for her—­that you were alone in your rooms and would like to see her.  She went up like a two-year-old.  Jove, you ought to have seen her face when she came down!”