"You give me your word for that?"
"Absolutely. Even after twenty years of America no Harrowby would drag his father's name on to the vaudeville stage. No, he is an impostor, and as such he deserves no consideration whatever. And by the by, Minot—you will note that the postponement is through no fault of mine."
Minot made a wry face.
"I have noted it," he said. "In other words, I go on to the stage now—following the man who followed the trained seals. I thought my role was that of Cupid, but it begins to look more like Captain Kidd. Ah, well—I'll do my best." He stood up. "I'm going out into the soft moonlight for a little while, Lord Harrowby. While I'm gone you might call Spencer Meyrick up and ask him to do nothing definite in the way of postponement until he hears from me—us—er—you."
"Splendid of you, really," said Harrowby enthusiastically, as Minot held open the door for him. "I had the feeling I could fall back on you."
"And I have the feeling that you've fallen," smiled Minot. "So long—better wait up for my report."
Fifteen minutes later, seated in a small rowboat on the starry waters of the harbor, Minot was loudly saluting the yacht Lileth. Finally Mr. Martin Wall appeared at the rail.
"Well—what d'you want?" he demanded.
"A word with you, Mr. Wall," Minot answered. "Will you be good enough to let down your accommodation ladder?"
For a moment Wall hesitated. And Minot, watching him, knew why he hesitated. He suspected that the young man in the tiny boat there on the calm bright waters had come to repay a call earlier in the evening—a call made while the host was out. At last he decided to let down the ladder.