“Does it require preparation for an ordeal so charming?” laughed Brock.  He was recalling the fact that Medcroft had married a beautiful Philadelphia girl some years ago in London, a young lady whom he had never seen, so thoroughly expatriated had she become in consequence of almost a lifetime residence in England.  He remembered now that she was rich and that he had sent her a ridiculously expensive present and a congratulatory cablegram at the time of the wedding.  Also, it occurred to him that the Medcrofts had asked him to visit them at their shooting-box for several seasons in succession, and that their town house was always open to him.  While he had not ignored the invitations, he had never responded in person.  He began to experience twinges of remorse:  Medcroft was such a good fellow!

The Londoner did not respond to the innocuous query.  He merely stared in a preoccupied, determined manner at the succeeding etages as they slipped downward.  At the fourth floor they disembarked, and Brock led the way to his rooms, overlooking the inner court.  Once inside, with the door closed, he turned upon the Englishman.

“Now, what’s up, Rox?  Are you in trouble?” he demanded.

“Are we quite alone?” Medcroft glanced significantly at the transom and the half-closed bathroom door.  With a laugh, Brock led him into the bathroom and out, and then closed the transom.

“You’re darned mysterious,” he said, pointing to a chair near the window.  Medcroft drew another close up and seated himself.

“Brock,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward impressively, “I want you to go to Vienna in my place.”  Brock stared hard.  “You are a godsend, old man.  You’re just in time to do me the greatest of favours.  It’s utterly impossible for me to go to Vienna as I had planned, and yet it is equally unwise for me to give up the project.  You see, I’ve just got to be in London and Vienna at the same time.”

“It will require something more than a stretch of the imagination to do that, old man.  But I’m game, and my plans are such that they can be changed readily to oblige a friend.  I shan’t mind the trip in the least and I’ll be only too happy to help you out!  ’Gad, I thought by your manner that you were in some frightful difficulty.  Have a cigaret.”

“By Jove, Brock, you’re a brick,” cried Medcroft, shaking the other’s hand vigorously.  At the same time his face expressed considerable uncertainty and no little doubt as to the further welfare of his as yet partially divulged proposition.

“It’s easy to be a brick, my boy, if it involves no more than the changing of a single letter in one’s name.  I’d like to attend the convention, anyway,” said Brock amiably.

“Well, you see, Brock,” said Medcroft lamely, “I fear you don’t quite appreciate the situation.  I want you to pose as Roxbury Medcroft.”

“You—­What do you mean?”

“I thought you’d find that a facer.  That’s just it:  you are to go to Vienna as Roxbury Medcroft, not as yourself.  Ha, ha!  Ripping, eh?”