“Yes.  She sang this afternoon.”

“What sort of a voice has she got?”

“Well, it’s—­loud!”

“Could she pick a high note off the roof and hold it till the janitor came round to lock up the building for the night?”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Answer me this, woman, frankly.  How is her high note?  Pretty lofty?”

“Why, yes.”

“Then say no more,” said Archie.  “Leave this to me, my dear old better four-fifths!  Hand the whole thing over to Archibald, the man who never lets you down.  I have a scheme!”

As Archie approached his suite on the following afternoon he heard through the closed door the drone of a gruff male voice; and, going in, discovered Lucille in the company of his brother-in-law.  Lucille, Archie thought, was looking a trifle fatigued.  Bill, on the other hand, was in great shape.  His eyes were shining, and his face looked so like that of a stuffed frog that Archie had no difficulty in gathering that he had been lecturing on the subject of his latest enslaver.

“Hallo, Bill, old crumpet!” he said.

“Hallo, Archie!”

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” said Lucille.  “Bill is telling me all about Spectatia.”

“Who?”

“Spectatia.  The girl, you know.  Her name is Spectatia Huskisson.”

“It can’t be!” said Archie, incredulously.

“Why not?” growled Bill.

“Well, how could it?” said Archie, appealing to him as a reasonable man.  “I mean to say!  Spectatia Huskisson!  I gravely doubt whether there is such a name.”

“What’s wrong with it?” demanded the incensed Bill.  “It’s a darned sight better name than Archibald Moffam.”

“Don’t fight, you two children!” intervened Lucille, firmly.  “It’s a good old Middle West name.  Everybody knows the Huskissons of Snake Bite, Michigan.  Besides, Bill calls her Tootles.”

“Pootles,” corrected Bill, austerely.

“Oh, yes, Pootles.  He calls her Pootles.”

“Young blood!  Young blood!” sighed Archie.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk as if you were my grandfather.”

“I look on you as a son, laddie, a favourite son!”

“If I had a father like you—!"-"Ah, but you haven’t, young-feller-me-lad, and that’s the trouble.  If you had, everything would be simple.  But as your actual father, if you’ll allow me to say so, is one of the finest specimens of the human vampire-bat in captivity, something has got to be done about it, and you’re dashed lucky to have me in your corner, a guide, philosopher, and friend, full of the fruitiest ideas.  Now, if you’ll kindly listen to me for a moment—­”

“I’ve been listening to you ever since you came in.”

“You wouldn’t speak in that harsh tone of voice if you knew all!  William, I have a scheme!”

“Well?”

“The scheme to which I allude is what Maeterlinck would call a lallapaloosa!”