“I’ve met Oakley.”

Gregory Porlock laughed.

“But not his wife? Then we’re in the same boat. They won’t be in the house-party because they’ve just moved into a house of their own quite near me. Horrible great barrack of a place. But don’t tell Oakley I said so-he thinks it’s bracing. I’ll get them to come over and dine. They’re my nearest neighbours, so I must contrive to meet Mrs. Oakley. I’m told she’s pretty. Well now, you’ll come-won’t you?”

Mr. Tote was heard to swallow.

“I don’t know that we can-”

“My dear Tote! Oh, by the way, you have that memorandum I sent you? The address? And the date? Well, I have one or two more that might interest you. I thought we might talk the whole thing over in a friendly spirit if you came down. I really think it would be a good plan-don’t you?… Oh, splendid! I shall look forward to it so much. Goodbye.”

He hung up, and almost immediately dialled another number. This time it was a woman’s voice that answered.

“ Moira Lane speaking.” A pretty voice, a good deal farther up the social scale than Mr. Tote’s.

Gregory Porlock announcing himself, compliments were exchanged. Miss Lane was invited to join the week-end party, and accepted with alacrity.

“I’d love to! Who else have you got?”

“The Totes. You won’t know them, and you won’t want to. I want to talk over a bit of business with him.”

“Isn’t he one of our Newest Rich?”

“That’s it. Her jewellery has to be seen to be believed.”

Moira laughed. It was a pretty sound.

“What is she like?”

“A white mouse.”

“My dear Greg!”

“You needn’t talk to her. The others in the house will be a Mr. and Miss Masterman-brother and sister-just come in for a lot of money from an old cousin.”

“Some people have all the luck,” said Miss Lane in a heartfelt manner.

He laughed.

“Perhaps there’ll be enough to go round-you can’t tell, can you?”