"It's—it's—er—oh, yes, it's because you're a diplomat," he finally remarked in triumph. It was a grand recovery, thought he. "Saunders is an ass and Britt would be one if Browne could only admit it, as I do. Rubbish! Don't let that trouble you. Eh, Browne?"
"Besides," said Bobby Browne breezily, "I haven't heard of your clients inviting you to lunch, Mr. Chase. The cases are parallel."
"I'm not so sure about his clients' wives," said Deppingham, with a vast haw-haw! Chase looked extremely uncomfortable.
"I am told that some of them are very beautiful," said Genevra sedately.
"Other men's wives always are, I've discovered," said Chase gallantly.
The party had moved over to the great stone steps which led down into the gardens. Chase was standing beside Lady Deppingham and both of them were looking toward his distant bungalow. He turned to the Princess with the remark:
"That is my home. Princess. It is the first time I have seen it from your point of view, Lady Deppingham. I must say that it doesn't seem as far from the château to the bungalow as it does from the bungalow to the château. There have been times when the château seemed to be thousands of miles away."
"When in reality it was at your very feet," she said with a bright look into his eyes. For some unaccountable reason, Genevra resented that look and speech. Perhaps it was because she felt the rift of an undercurrent.
"Is that really where you live?" she asked, so innocently that Chase had difficulty in controlling his expression.
At that instant something struck sharply against the stone column above Chase's head. At least three persons saw the little puff of smoke in the hills far to the right. Every one heard the distant crack of a rifle. The bullet had dropped at Chase's feet before the sound of the report came floating to their ears. No one spoke as he stooped and picked up the warm, deadly missile. Turning it over in his fingers, an ugly thing to look at, he said coolly, although his cheek had gone white: