way the Baron was as great a scandal-monger and blagueur as the other man, but he tore reputations to shreds with greater violence than his English confrère, who was, after all, more of an artist. On the other hand, the Baron had greater justification in peeping through the chinks in society’s shutters, for was he not a diplomatist?

“A very extraordinary thing has come to light,” Greetland said, with an air befitting the communication. “It is really quite dramatic, and Heaven only knows what will be the end of it.”

“What? What?” Baron de Daun’s temper was impatient of preliminaries, a circumstance which, however, was not so great a drawback as it would seem in his profession, where due weight is given to considerations other than individual fitness.

“You remember,” Greetland proceeded, still deliberately—on his own ground it took more than the representative[25] of a second-rate power to flurry him—“you remember the affair of poor Beauty Martindale?”

[25]

“Oh, yes; the poor fellow who died so tragically at the ball at—where was it? Yes?”

To Lady Rotherfield details were unimportant; but to Greetland they had their value. “Vaux House,” he supplied.

“Yes? yes?”

“Let’s see. He was supposed to have died of heart disease, but it was doubted——”

“There was no doubt about it,” de Daun asserted quickly. The subject was too interesting for more diplomatic contradiction.

“Of course,” corroborated Sir Perrott Aspall, who had been in Australia at the time and was consequently well qualified to give an authoritative dictum. “He was murdered, done to death by one of his partners, eh? That’s the idea.”

“I recollect,” put in Mrs. Hargrave breathlessly. “Half the smart women in town were suspected.”

“Many of whom were not at the dance,” de Daun laughed.

“It’s years ago,” Lady Rotherfield said, as an excuse for general vagueness.

“Well, what of it? What has come to light?” the Baron demanded. “Get on, my dear fellow, if you have anything to tell us.”

Greetland, master of the situation, was content to wait till the chatter stopped. “The facts were these. Reggie Martindale, the handsomest man in town, was 

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