She found Clare in. For the first few minutes they avoided each other’s troubles, then Dinny said: “Well?”

“Not at all well. I’ve split with Tony — my nerves are in rags and his in tatters.”

“But do you mean that he —?”

“No. Only I’ve told him I can’t go on seeing him till this is over. We meet meaning not to talk about the thing; then it crops up, and we get all anyhow.”

“He must be awfully unhappy.”

“He is. But it’s only for another three or four weeks.”

“And then?”

Clare laughed — no joyful sound.

“But seriously, Clare?”

“We shan’t win, and then nothing will matter. If Tony wants me I suppose I shall let him. He’ll be ruined, so I shall owe him that.”

“I think,” said Dinny slowly, “that I wouldn’t let the result affect me.”

Clare stared up at her from the sofa.

“That sounds almost too sensible.”

“It wasn’t worth while to plead innocence unless you meant to carry it through, however the case goes. If you win, wait till you can divorce Jerry. If you don’t win, wait till you’re divorced. It won’t do Tony any real harm to wait; and it’ll certainly do you no harm to know for certain how you feel.”

“Jerry is quite clever enough to prevent my ever getting evidence against him, if he sets his mind to it.”

“Then we must hope you’ll lose. Your friends will still believe in you.”

Clare shrugged. “Will they?”

“I’ll see to that,” said Dinny.

“Dornford has advised telling Jack Muskham before the case comes on. What do you say?”

“I should like to see Tony Croom first.”

“Well, if you come round again this evening, you’ll see him. He comes and stares up at me at seven o’clock on Saturday and Sunday evenings. Quaint!”

“No. Very natural. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Riding with Dornford in Richmond Park. I ride with him in the Row early every morning now. I wish you’d come, Dinny.”

“No things, and no muscles.”

“Darling,” said Clare, springing up, “it really was awful while you were ill. We felt ever so bad. Dornford was quite potty. You look better now than you did before.”

“Yes, I’m more pneumatic.”

“Oh! you’ve read that book?”

Dinny nodded. “I’ll come round this evening. Good-bye; bless you!” . . .

It was almost seven when she slipped out of Mount Street and walked rapidly towards the Mews. A full moon was up with the evening star in a not yet darkened sky. Coming to the west corner of the deserted Mews, she at once saw young Croom standing below No. 2. Waiting till he began to move away, she ran down the Mews and round the far corner to catch him.

“Dinny! How wonderful!”

“I was told I should catch you looking at the Queen.”

“Yes, that’s what the cat has come to.”

“It might be worse.”

“Are you all right again? You must have got a chill in the City that foul day.”

“Let’s walk as far as the Park. I wanted to ask you about Jack Muskham.”

“I funk telling him.”

“Shall I do it for you?”

“But why?”

Dinny took his arm.

“He’s a connection, through Uncle Lawrence. Besides, I’ve had occasion to know him. Mr. Dornford is perfectly right; it will depend very much on when and what he’s told. Let me!”

“I don’t know really — I really don’t know.”

“I want to see him again, anyway.”

Young Croom looked at her.

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“Honest Injun.”

“It’s terribly sweet of you; of course you can do it much better than I, but —”

“That’s enough then.”

They had reached the Park, and were walking along the rails towards Mount Street.

“Have you been seeing the lawyers much?”

“Yes, our evidence is all taped out. It’s the cross-examination.”

“I think I might enjoy that, if I were going to tell the truth.”

“They twist and turn what you say so, and their tones of voice —! I went into that court and listened one day. Dornford told Clare he wouldn’t practice in that court for all the gold in France. He’s a sound fellow, Dinny.”

“Yes,” said Dinny, looking round at his ingenuous face.

“I don’t think our lawyers care about the job either. It’s not in their line. ‘Very young’ Roger is a bit of a sportsman. He believes we’re telling the truth, because he realises I’m sorry we are. That’s your turning. I shall go and bat round the Park, or I shan’t sleep. Wonderful moon!”

Dinny pressed his hand.

When she reached her door, he was still standing there, and raised his hat to her — or to the moon, she could not be quite sure which . . .

According to Sir Lawrence, Jack Muskham would be up in Town over the week-end; he now had rooms in Ryder Street. She had not thought twice about going all the way to Royston to see him concerning Wilfrid; but he might well think twice about her going to see him in Ryder Street concerning young Croom. She telephoned, therefore, to Burton’s Club at lunch-time the next day.

His voice brought back the shock of the last time she had heard it, close to the York Column.

“Dinny Cherrell. Could I see you some time today?”

The answer came slowly.

“Er — of course. When?”

“Any time that suits you.”

“Are you at Mount Street?”

“Yes, but I would rather come to you.”

“Well — er — would —? How about tea at my rooms in Ryder Street? You know the number?”

&ld............