Adrian got Benson on his feet.  The heavy butler was disposed to summon all the commiseration he could feel for his bruised flesh.  Every half-step he attempted was like a dislocation.  His groans and grunts were frightful.

“How much did that hat cost, Benson?” said Adrian, as he put it on his head.

“A five-and-twenty shilling beaver, Mr. Hadrian!” Benson caressed its injuries.

“The cheapest policy of insurance I remember to have heard of!” said Adrian.

Benson staggered, moaning at intervals to his cruel comforter.

“He’s a devil, Mr. Hadrian!  He’s a devil, sir, I do believe, sir.  Ooogh! he’s a devil!—­I can’t move, Mr. Hadrian.  I must be fetched.  And Dr. Clifford must be sent for, sir.  I shall never be fit for work again.  I haven’t a sound bone in my body, Mr. Hadrian.”

“You see, Benson, this comes of your declaring war upon Venus.  I hope the maids will nurse you properly.  Let me see:  you are friends with the housekeeper, aren’t you?  All depends upon that.”

“I’m only a faithful servant, Mr. Hadrian,” the miserable butler snarled.

“Then you’ve got no friend but your bed.  Get to it as quick as possible, Benson.”

“I can’t move.”  Benson made a resolute halt.  “I must be fetched,” he whinnied.  “It’s a shame to ask me to move, Mr. Hadrian.”

“You will admit that you are heavy, Benson,” said Adrian, “so I can’t carry you.  However, I see Mr. Richard is very kindly returning to help me.”

At these words heavy Benson instantly found his legs, and shambled on.

Lady Blandish met Richard in dismay.

“I have been horribly frightened,” she said.  “Tell me, what was the meaning of those cries I heard?”

“Only some one doing justice on a spy,” said Richard, and the lady smiled, and looked on him fondly, and put her hand through his hair.

“Was that all?  I should have done it myself if I had been a man.  Kiss me.”

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