“But surely,” he protested, “that would make him a professional pugilist?”
“Not at all,” Sir Timothy replied. “For one thing, the match is a private one in a private house, and for another the money is a gift. There is no purse. If your brother loses, he gets nothing. Will you see the fight, Mr. Wilmore?”
“Yes, I will see it,” was the somewhat reluctant assent.
“You will give me your word not to interfere in any way?”
“I shall not interfere,” Wilmore promised. “If they are wearing regulation gloves, and the weights are about equal, and the conditions are what you say, it is the last thing I should wish to do.”
“Capital!” Sir Timothy exclaimed. “Now to pass on. There is one other feature of my entertainments concerning which I have something to say—a series of performances which takes place on my launch at odd times. There is one fixed for tonight. I can say little about it except that it is unusual. I am going to ask you, Lady Cynthia, and you, Ledsam, to witness it. When you have seen that, you know everything. Then you and I, Ledsam, can call one another's hands. I shall have something else to say to you, but that is outside the doings here.”
“Are we to see the fight in the gymnasium?” Lady Cynthia enquired.
Sir Timothy shook his head.
“I do not allow women there under any conditions,” he said. “You and Margaret had better stay here whilst that takes place. It will probably be over in twenty minutes. It will be time then for us to find our way to the launch. After that, if you have any appetite, supper. I will order some caviare sandwiches for you,” Sir Timothy went on, ringing the bell, “and some wine.”
Lady Cynthia smiled.