“My friends!  Yours, you mean!” she retorted.

“Oh, come now!  But let it go at that.  They know, of course, that this fellow isn’t her husband, and yet, by Gad, Agatha, they’ve gone about deliberately palming him off on us as the real article.  They are actually sanctioning the whole bloody—­”

“Stop a moment, Carney,” interrupted his wife.  “The London chap may be the fraud.  Let us go slow, my dear.”

“Slow?  How the devil can we go slow in such fast company?  No!  This fellow is the fraud.  And they knew it too.  They all know it.  They—­”

“Rubbish!  You forget that the whole Rodney tribe is up in arms because Medcroft is making love to his wife’s sister.  They’re not assuming anything there, let me tell you.  And he’s not Edith’s lover.  If he’s not her husband, he’s playing a part that she understands and approves.  And this—­this, my dear Carney, may account for the imaginary orphanage of Tootles.  Dear me, it’s quite a tangle.”

“I shall telegraph my solicitors at once for definite news.  They’ll know whether the real Medcroft is in London, and then—­well, by Jove, Agatha, I can’t tell just wot steps I’ll take in regard to these Rodneys.”

He went into a long tirade against the unfortunate Seattle-ites, as he called them.  “Understand me, Agatha, I don’t blame Mrs. Medcroft.  If she’s having an affair with this chap and can pull the wool—­”

“But she isn’t having an affair with this chap,” cried Mrs. Odell-Carney, her patience exhausted.  “She’s having an affair with a chap in London—­the one who writes—­Good gracious!  Of course!  Why, what fools we are.  The real Medcroft is in London, and it is he who is writing the letters.  How stupid of me!”

“Aha!” exclaimed he triumphantly.  “Of course, she’s getting letters from her husband.  Why not?  That’s to be expected.  But, by the everlasting shagpat, do you suppose that her husband knows she’s off here with another fellow who masquerades as her husband?  No!” He almost shouted it.  “I’ve never heard of anything so brazen.  ’Gad, what nerve these Americans have.  Just to think of it!”

“I don’t believe she is anything of the sort,” declared his wife.  “She’s as good as gold.  You can’t fool me, Carney.  I know women.”

“Deuce take it, Agatha, so do I. And wot’s more, I know men.”

“They’re a poor lot, the kind you know.  This pseudo Medcroft is not your kind.  He’s a very clever chap and a gentleman.”

“Now, look here, Agatha, don’t imagine that I’m going to be such a cad as to turn against ’em in their hour of trial.  Not I. I’m more their friend than ever.  I’ll help ’em to get away from here, and I’ll bulldose these Rodneys into holding their peace forever after.  It’s the Rodney duplicity that I can’t stand.”

“Shall we stay here or shall we find an excuse to leave?” she asked pointedly.

“We’ll stay long enough for me to tell the Rodneys wot I think of ’em, I’ll have an answer to my despatch by night.  Then, I should advise you to have a talk with Mrs. Medcroft.  You’ve invited her to the house, you know.  Tell her there can’t be two Medcrofts.  See wot I mean?  We’ll see ’em through this, but—­well, you understand.”