Lord Belpher’s scowl deepened.

“It’s not a joking matter,” he said coldly.

“Great Heavens, I’m not joking.  How could I have the heart to joke at a moment like this, when the friend of my youth has suddenly become a social leper?”

“I wish to goodness you would stop.”

“Do you think it is any pleasure to me to be seen about with a man who is now known in criminal circles as Percy, the Piccadilly Policeman-Puncher?  I keep a brave face before the world, but inwardly I burn with shame and agony and what not.”

The great door of the castle swung open, revealing Keggs, the butler.  He was a man of reverend years, portly and dignified, with a respectfully benevolent face that beamed gravely on the young master and Mr. Byng, as if their coming had filled his cup of pleasure.  His light, slightly protruding eyes expressed reverential good will.  He gave just that touch of cosy humanity to the scene which the hall with its half lights and massive furniture needed to make it perfect to the returned wanderer.  He seemed to be intimating that this was a moment to which he had looked forward long, and that from now on quiet happiness would reign supreme.  It is distressing to have to reveal the jarring fact that, in his hours of privacy when off duty, this apparently ideal servitor was so far from being a respecter of persons that he was accustomed to speak of Lord Belpher as “Percy”, and even as “His Nibs”.  It was, indeed, an open secret among the upper servants at the castle, and a fact hinted at with awe among the lower, that Keggs was at heart a Socialist.

“Good evening, your lordship.  Good evening, sir.”

Lord Belpher acknowledged the salutation with a grunt, but Reggie was more affable.

“How are you, Keggs?  Now’s your time, if you’re going to do it.”  He stepped a little to one side and indicated Lord Belpher’s crimson neck with an inviting gesture.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Ah.  You’d rather wait till you can do it a little more privately.  Perhaps you’re right.”

The butler smiled indulgently.  He did not understand what Reggie was talking about, but that did not worry him.  He had long since come to the conclusion that Reggie was slightly mad, a theory supported by the latter’s valet, who was of the same opinion.  Keggs did not dislike Reggie, but intellectually he considered him negligible.

“Send something to drink into the library, Keggs,” said Lord Belpher.

“Very good, your lordship.”

“A topping idea,” said Reggie.  “I’ll just take the old car round to the garage, and then I’ll be with you.”

He climbed to the steering wheel, and started the engine.  Lord Belpher proceeded to the library, while Keggs melted away through the green baize door at the end of the hail which divided the servants’ quarters from the rest of the house.

Reggie had hardly driven a dozen yards when he perceived his stepmother and Lord Marshmoreton coming towards him from the direction of the rose-garden.  He drew up to greet them.