“There will be seating for fifty, sir, and standing room for fifty,” he announced.  “I have had the ring slightly enlarged, as you suggested, and the lighting is being altered so that the start is exactly north and south.”

Sir Timothy nodded thoughtfully.  The beautiful oak floor of the place was littered with sawdust and shavings of wood.  Several tiers of seats had been arranged on the space usually occupied by swings, punching-balls and other artifices.  On a slightly raised dais at the further end was an exact replica of a ring, corded around and with sawdust upon the floor.  Upon the walls hung a marvellous collection of weapons of every description, from the modern rifle to the curved and terrible knife used by the most savage of known tribes.

“How are things in the quarters?” Sir Timothy asked.

“Every one is well, sir.  Doctor Ballantyne arrived this afternoon.  His report is excellent.”

Sir Timothy nodded and turned away.  He looked into the great gallery, its waxen floors shining with polish, ready for the feet of the dancers on the morrow; looked into a beautiful concert-room, with an organ that reached to the roof; glanced into the banquetting hall, which extended far into the winter-garden; made his way up the broad stairs, turned down a little corridor, unlocked a door and passed into his own suite.  There was a small dining-room, a library, a bedroom, and a bathroom fitted with every sort of device.  A man-servant who had heard him enter, hurried from his own apartment across the way.

“You are not dining here, sir? “he enquired.

Sir Timothy shook his head.

“No, I am dining late at The Sanctuary,” he replied.  “I just strolled over to see how the preparations were going on.  I shall be sleeping over there, too.  Any prowlers?”

“Photographer brought some steps and photographed the horses in the park from the top of the wall this afternoon, sir,” the man announced.  “Jenkins let him go.  Two or three pressmen sent in their cards to you, but they were not allowed to pass the lodge.”

Sir Timothy nodded.  Soon he left the house and crossed the park towards The Sanctuary.  He was followed all the way by horses, of which there were more than thirty in the great enclosure.  One mare greeted him with a neigh of welcome and plodded slowly after him.  Another pressed her nose against his shoulder and walked by his side, with his hand upon her neck.  Sir Timothy looked a little nervously around, but the park itself lay almost like a deep green pool, unobserved, and invisible from anywhere except the house itself.  He spoke a few words to each of the horses, and, producing his key, passed through the door in the wall into The Sanctuary garden, closing it quickly as he recognised Francis standing under the cedar-tree.

“Has Lady Cynthia arrived yet?” he enquired.

“Not yet,” Francis replied.  “Margaret will be here in a minute.  She told me to say that cocktails are here and that she has ordered dinner served on the terrace.”