“What on earth is he trying to sell?” Flossie demanded.

Dredlinton turned with an evil grin.  He had at least the courage of a drunken man, for he took no account of Wingate towering over him.

“Don’t you know?” he cried out.  “Doesn’t every one understand?”

“Stop!” Wingate ordered.

“And why the hell should I stop for you?” Dredlinton shouted.  “If Flossie wants to know, here’s the truth.  It’s the least cherished of all my household goods.  It’s my wife.”

Of what happened during the next few seconds, or rather of the manner of its happening, few people were able to render a coherent account.  All that they remembered was a most amazing spectacle,—­the spectacle of Wingate walking quietly to the door with Dredlinton in his arms, kicking and shouting smothered profanities, but absolutely powerless to free himself.  The door was opened by a waiter, and Wingate passed into the corridor.  A maitre d’hotel, with presence of mind, hurried up to him.

“Have you an empty room with a key?” Wingate asked.

The man led the way and pushed open the door of a small apartment used on busy occasions for a service room.  Wingate thrust in his struggling burden and locked the door.

“Strong panels?” he enquired, pausing for a moment to listen to the blows directed upon them.

The head waiter smiled.

“They’re more than one man can break through, sir,” he assured him.

Wingate made his way back to the supper party.  Half of the guests were on their feet.  He met Sir Frederick near the door.

“Sorry, Sir Frederick, if I am in any way responsible for this little disturbance,” he said, as he made his way towards his place.  “I think if I were you, I should give this key to one of the commissionaires a little later on.  Lord Dredlinton is quite safe for the present.”

Sir Frederick patted him on the shoulder.

“Most unprovoked attack,” he declared.  “Delighted to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Wingate, you treated him exactly as he deserved.”

Wingate resumed his place and held out his glass to the waiter.  Then he raised it to his lips.  The glass was full to the brim but his fingers were perfectly steady.  He looked down the table towards Phipps, whose expression was noncommittal, and gently disemburdened himself of Flossie’s arm, which had stolen through his.

“I think you are the most wonderful man I ever met,” she confided.

“You’re a brick,” Sarah whispered in his ear.  “Come and see me off the premises, there’s a dear.  Jimmy won’t be ready for hours yet and I want to get home.”

Wingate rose at once, made his adieux and accompanied Sarah to the door, followed by a reproachful glance from Flossie.  The former took his arm and held it tightly as they passed along the corridor.

“I think that you are the dearest man I ever knew, Mr. Wingate,” she said, “just as I think that Josephine is the dearest woman, and I hope more than anything in the world—­well, you know what I hope.”