“Pom-pom-pom!” 

 “She put me through a cross-examination …” 

 Jill had thrown her head back, and was singing jubilantly at the top of her voice. The appositeness of the song had cheered her up. It seemed somehow to make her forebodings rather ridiculous, to reduce them to absurdity, to turn into farce the gathering tragedy which had been weighing upon her nerves. 

 “Then she shook her head, Looked at me and said: ‘Poor John!’…” 

 “Jill,” said a voice at the door. “I want you to meet my mother!” 

 “Poo-oo-oor John!” bleated the hapless Freddie, unable to check himself. 

 “Dinner,” said Parker the valet, appearing at the door and breaking a silence that seemed to fill the room like a tangible presence, “is served!” 

 

CHAPTER TWO

§ 1.

 The front-door closed softly behind the theatre-party. Dinner was over, and Parker had just been assisting the expedition out of the place. Sensitive to atmosphere, he had found his share in the dinner a little trying. It had been a strained meal, and what he liked was a clatter of conversation and everybody having a good time and enjoying themselves. 

 “Ellen!” called Parker, as he proceeded down the passage to the empty dining-room. “Ellen!” 

 Mrs Parker appeared out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. Her work for the evening, like her husband’s, was over. Presently what is technically called a “useful girl” would come in to wash the dishes, leaving the evening free for social intercourse. Mrs Parker had done well by her patrons that night, and now she wanted a quiet chat with Parker over a glass of Freddie Rooke’s port. 

 “Have they gone, Horace?” she asked, following him into the dining-room. 

 Parker selected a cigar from Freddie’s humidor, crackled it against his ear, smelt it, clipped off the end, and lit it. He took the decanter and filled his wife’s glass, then mixed himself a whisky-and-soda. 

 “Happy days!” said Parker. “Yes, 

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