"Then will this be the end of my—er—painful position?"
"So far as your own anxiety goes; yes. You need no longer fear arrest."
The first look of relief which had rushed to the young man's face became clouded with a suggestion of chagrin.
"But won't people then—er—talk about me any longer?"
"I am afraid I can't prevent that—for a little longer."
The last of the baronet's worries seemed to disappear.
"Ah!" he said complacently. "Well, let them talk about me!"
Carrington rose and rang the bell.
"You deserve a third sloe gin!" said he.
While the third sloe gin was being brought, he very deliberately and very thoughtfully selected and lit a cigarette, and then he said: