"Oh, yes!" declared the girl eagerly.
"This time," said Bellamy, "he's getting it. And it's God's truth, my dear, that it makes me unspeakably happy."
Amaryllis put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
And then George came in with The Sunday Telegram.
"Raid on a West-End Flat!" he grumbled. "Nice, respectable lot you are, getting me mixed up with a thing like this!" And he read out:
"'In consequence of information which has come into the hands of the police——' and all the usual jabber. And the placards are screaming 'Secret Dope Factories' all over this moral city. 'World-wide Organisation to be Broken Up.' 'Five Leaders Arrested.' They'll be getting me and Betsy into the witness-box."
"Come off it, George," said Dick from the doorway. "You and Liz aren't going to get boomed in this stunt. Put your money into pars about your yacht and your stables, if the 'Palatial Home' gadget's wearing thin."
His smile was almost straight again, Amaryllis thought, and there was little sign upon him of what he had been through, except the patch of black plaster on his left cheek, and the accentuated limp with which he came across the room to her.
"Oh, Dick!" she exclaimed. "What a lovely coat!"
"That's just what I was going to say about you," he answered, taking her hand. "We look a bit different, don't we?"