“And dinner first at the Milan,” Wingate insisted.

“And supper afterwards and a dance at Ciro’s,” Sarah put in.  “I must tell Jimmy the glad tidings.”

Peter Phipps made his adieux to Lady Amesbury early and drove in his electric coupe first to Romano’s, then to the Milan and finally to Ciro’s.  Here he found Dredlinton, seated in a corner by himself, a little sulky at the dancing proclivities of the young lady whom he had brought.  He greeted Phipps with some surprise.

“Hullo, Dreadnought!” he exclaimed.  “What’s wrong with my garrulous aunt?  Has the party broken up early or weren’t you a success?”

“I wasn’t a success,” Phipps confessed grimly.  “Look here, Dredlinton, are you sober enough to talk horse common sense?”

“Sober?  My God, can you tell me how any one can get a drink here!” was the injured reply.  “I was just off somewhere else.  One bottle of champagne, if you please, between two of us, and the liqueur brandies were served with the soup.  Call this—­a Christian country!”

“Then if you’re sober, and for once you seem to be,” Phipps said, “just listen to me.  Listen hard, mind, and don’t interrupt.  Have you ever wondered why I put you on the Board of the B.& I.?”

“My title, I suppose—­and social position.”

“Rot!” Phipps answered scornfully.  “Your title and your social position aren’t worth a damn to me.  I put you on because of your wife.”

Dredlinton stared at him.

“Why, you didn’t even know her!”

“Never mind.  I knew her to look at.  I wanted to know her.  Now I do know her, and it hasn’t done me much good.”

Dredlinton sat a little more erect in his place.  Behind his cynical exterior, his evil brain had begun to work.

“Look here, Phipps,” he said, “I don’t care about this conversation.  If a man happens to admire another man’s wife, her husband is scarcely the proper confidant.”

“Oh, yes, I know your theory!” Phipps scoffed.  “You’re willing enough to hide your head in the sand and take the goods the gods send you.  That doesn’t suit me.  I happen to need your help.”

“My help?” Dredlinton repeated.  “The poor little spider to help the mighty Phipps!  You’re not finding difficulties in the way of your suit, are you?”

“If I do, it will be the worse for you,” was the gruff reply.  “As you’re going on now, Dredlinton, it will be your wife, and your wife alone, who’ll keep you out of jail before many weeks are past.  How about that cheque to Farnham and Company last week?  Farnham’s say they never got it, but I hear it’s come back through the bank with a queer endorsement upon it.”

Dredlinton caught at the tablecloth.  The malicious gleam in his eyes gave way to a look of positive fear.

“I can’t remember—­anything here—­without any books,” he muttered.  “Tell me what it is you want, Phipps?  I am ready to do any thing—­you know that.”