"Lady Baradell," I answered cheerfully, "is a very charming woman, but she doesn't come into our particular trouble—at least, not officially."
"I see," said Billy.
We caught York at the entrance to the pavilion, flushed with his exertions and magnificent in a red and yellow blazer. I introduced Billy as the gentleman who had rescued me from the marshmen, and we chatted away for a few minutes about the attempted crime, and congratulated York upon his spirited innings.
"You're the hero of the hour," I said, waving my hand towards the small group under the elm trees; "go and receive your laurels."
He sauntered off, protesting with true English mock modesty that he had played "a rotten innings," and Billy and I made our way to a deserted bank on the farther side of the field.
"Not bad news, I hope, Billy?" said I, a little anxiously.
"It's not altogether serene," he answered, in a rather grave voice. "I'm afraid your girl's in a bit of a mess."
My heart seemed to tighten.
"Nothing serious yet," he added quickly; "but those beauties up at the Hollies have found out, somehow, that she met you yesterday, and, unless I'm badly mistaken, they've locked her up."
"How did you hear this?" I demanded.