“It sounds very mysterious,” Francis observed. “Is that all we are to be told?”
“I am afraid,” Sir Timothy complained, “that very few people sympathise with my hobbies or my prosecution of them. That is why such little incidents as last night's generally remain undisclosed. If you really wish to know what happened,” he went on, after a moment's pause, “I will tell you. As you know, I have a great many friends amongst the boxing fraternity, and I happened to hear of a man down in the East End who has made himself a terror to the whole community in which he lives. I took Peter Fields, my gymnasium instructor, down to the East End last night, and Peter Fields—dealt with him.”
“There was a fight?” Margaret exclaimed, with a little shudder.
“There was a fight,” Sir Timothy repeated, “if you can call it such. Fields gave him some part of the punishment he deserved.”
“And you were there, Cynthia?”
“I left Lady Cynthia in the car,” Sir Timothy explained. “She most improperly bribed my chauffeur to lend her his coat and hat, and followed me.”
“You actually saw the fight, then?” Francis asked.
“I did,” Lady Cynthia admitted. “I saw it from the beginning to the end.”
Margaret looked across the table curiously. It seemed to her that her friend had turned a little paler.
“Did you like it?” she asked simply.