"I've an idea," Harrowby replied.
"Everything comes to him who waits. What is it?"
"A very good friend of mine—an old Oxford friend—is attached to our embassy at Washington. He was planning to come down for the wedding. I'll telegraph him to board the next train."
"Good boy," said Minot. "That's a regular idea. Better send the wire at once."
Harrowby promised, and they parted. In the lobby below Mr. Minot met Jack Paddock. Paddock looked drawn and worried.
"Working up my stuff for the dinner the little Lismore lady is giving to the bridal party to-morrow night," he confided. "Say, it's no cinch to do two of them. Can't you suggest a topic that's liable to come up."
"Yes," replied Minot. "I can suggest one. Fake noblemen." And he related to Mr. Paddock the astounding events of the morning.
That Sunday that had begun so startlingly progressed as a Sunday should, in peace. Early in the afternoon Harrowby hunted Minot up and announced that his friend would arrive Monday noon, and that the Meyricks had agreed to take no definite step pending his arrival.
Shortly after six o'clock a delayed telegram was delivered to Mr. Minot. It was from Mr. Thacker, and it read:
"Have located the owner of the yacht Lileth its real name the Lady Evelyn stolen from owner in North River he is on his way south will look you up on arrival."