'Quick!' he said. 'Grab that knife—here's the Sketch. Look through it for anything about Dick Durwent.'
Seeing that the other was serious, Selwyn spread the paper before him and hurriedly searched its columns.
'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Here it'——
'Sh-sh! Hurry up and cut it out. Right. I'll fix up the Mirror in the same way. Now skim through the Mail. Got it? By Jove! damn near a whole column. Here'—Maynard ran the knife down the side of the column. 'Now then, old Fensome has promised to get the thing out of the Post, and to tell Lord Durwent before he goes to town. But he mustn't hear of it this way, and those women are not to know a word about it while they're in the house.'
Selwyn nodded and looked at the ragged clippings in his hand:
'ATTEMPTED MURDER IN WEST END.' 'WELL-KNOWN NOBLEMAN ATTACKED BY PEER'S SON.' 'QUARREL OVER DEMI-MONDAINE.'
'Gad, those are juicy lines, aren't they?' said Maynard. 'Won't some of our worthy citizens lick their chops over them, and point to the depravity of the upper classes? Do you know Dick Durwent?'
'I have seen him a couple of times.'
'Awfully decent chap. Screw loose, you know, and punishes his Scotch no end, but a topping fellow underneath. I don't know who the bit of fluff is that they're fighting about, but you can wager a quid to a bob that Dick thought he was doing her a good turn.'
'I wonder who the nobleman is.'