"That," said the sheikh, "is putting it mildly. I've got about an inch of skin missing from my calf."
"Oh, dear," said Joan, looking distressed. "Can't you manage to keep it out of people's way, darling?"
"I can," said Faust. "I can go and take the blighter off."
"But you look so awfully nice with it on," she sighed. "You ought to lay your hand on the hilt, like that."
"In the best circles," interposed Amberley, "it was never considered really good form to dance with a sword at one's side."
"Wasn't it?" said Joan doubtfully. "But I've seen pictures…'
"That's good enough for me," announced Faust, and prepared to depart.
As he turned, the end of the scabbard dug into a complete stranger who looked furious and said icily that it was quite all right. "That makes the third time I've caught that bloke with it," whispered Faust, not without satisfaction.
"Perhaps you had better do without it," Joan said reluctantly. She turned her attention to Amberley. "You mustn't take off your mask till midnight, you know," she reproved him.
He put it on again. "Why are masks de rigueur, Marguerite?" he inquired.
"You mean we ought just to have had dominoes with them? I know, but I specially wanted a fancy-dress ball, and masks are such fun that I thought we might have them too."
"Your brother doesn't wear one, I notice," remarked the sheikh, nodding to where Fountain, an imposing Cardinal Wolsey, stood talking to Mme de Pompadour.
"No, because he's the host. Shall I find you a partner, Mephistopheles?"
Amberley was watching a girl at the other side of the ballroom. "Will you introduce me to the contadina?" he asked.
Joan glanced in the girl's direction. "Yes, of course, but I don't know who she is."
"Kitty Crosby, isn't it?" said the sheikh.
"I thought Kitty was coming as a gipsy."
"Oh, was she? It might be Miss Halifax. No, I don't think it is, though."
Joan looked up at Amberley. "That's the fun of it. Do you know, I didn't recognise one of my oldest friends? Come on, I'll introduce you."
She led him to where the contadina was standing. "May I introduce Mephistopheles?" she said, smiling.
The contadina's eyes gleamed through the slits of her mask. She bowed and cast a fleeting glance up at the scarlet-dad figure before her.
"Shall we dance?" said Mr. Amberley.
"I should like to," she replied.
He drew her out into the room and took her in his arms. She danced well, but showed no desire to talk. Mr. Amberley guided her through the maze of shifting couple and said presently: "I wonder whether you are Miss Halifax or Miss Crosby?"
The red lips curved. "Ah!" said the contadina.
"Or neither?" pursued Mr. Amberley.
The hand in his moved slightly. "You will see at unmasking, Mephistopheles."
"I wonder?" said Mr. Amberley. He was aware of her gaze searching his face and smiled down at her. "A bit a mob, isn't it?" he said. "Do you think the Fountains can really know everyone here tonight?"
"Oh, but surely!"
"In these days of gate-crashing . ." murmured Mr. Amberley.
"I don't think that is done in the country," she said.
"I expect you know much more about it than I do," he agreed politely.
The music came to an end. Mr. Amberley did not join. in the clapping, but led his partner to the door. "You must let me get you something to drink," he said. He nodded towards a sofa in an alcove of the hall. "Will you wait for me there?"
The contadina appeared to consider. Then she shrugged. "Very well."
He found her seated on the sofa when he returned with two glasses. "You haven't run away," he observed, and handed her one of the glasses.
"Why should I?" she said coolly.
"I thought you might have grown impatient. There's a bit of a barge round the refreshments." He sat down beside her. "You remind me so much of someone I've met," he said thoughtfully. "Now who can it be?"
She sipped her hock-cup. "Funny," she said. "I don't seem to know you at all. You don't live here, do you?"
"Oh no!" he replied. "I'm merely a bird of passage. I'm staying with the Matthews'."
"Yes? For long?"
"No, just till I've cleared up a little matter that's interesting me."
She inclined her head. "I see. It sounds most intriguing."
He looked down at her. "Somehow I don't think you can be the girl I had in mind."
"No? Who is she?"
"Oh, nobody you would be likely to know. Rather a callow young thing."
She stiffened. "Really, I can't pretend to be flattered."
"But didn't I say I felt sure you couldn't be her?" he said. "Let's talk of something else. Are you fond of shooting?"
"I have never done any," she replied in a voice of dangerous calm.
"No? It's an odd thing, but nine women out of ten would rather have nothing to do with firearms." He offered her his open cigarette case. "You occasionally find an exception to the rule. I met a girl the other day who carried a businesslike automatic about with her.. Fully loaded."
She took a cigarette from his case; her hand was quite steady. "In these days it's probably wise to carry a gun after dark," she said.
He paused in the act of striking a match. "Did I say it was after dark?" he asked, surprised.
"I assumed that it must be," she replied rather sharply. "Wasn't it?"
He held the match to the end of her cigarette. "As a matter of fact it was," he admitted.
She exhaled a long spiral of smoke and turned her head slightly so that she could survey him. "I'm trying to place you," she said. "I have a feeling you are probably a newspaper reporter."
She saw the flash of hiss teeth as he smiled. "Aren't you going to tell me why you think that?" he suggested.
She shook her head. "I shouldn't like to be rude," she said sweetly. "Are you a reporter?"
"No, fair lady. I'm a barrister."
He guessed that she was frowning.
"Oh!" she said. "A barrister."
"In the criminal court," nodded Amberley.
She got up abruptly. "That must be most interesting. I must go back to the ballroom; I'm engaged for this dance." She paused and he saw her lips curl scornfully. "May I compliment you on your costume? It suits you to perfection."
Mr. Amberley's shoulders shook slightly. He watched her walk away across the hall and wandered off in search of his cousin.
He had seen her go upstairs with an infatuated youth not long before. Mr. Amberley had a poor opinion of the youth, and saw nothing against interrupting the tete-atete and claiming Felicity for the dance which was undoubtedly his. He picked his way between the couples scattered on the staircase and reached the upper hall. It was as spacious as the one below, and had been provided with chairs and screens placed discreetly to form small sitting-out places. At one end was the broad staircase lit by a great window with many lights; at the other a graceful archway gave onto a wider passage that ran at right angles to it. Having reason to believe that his cousin was to be found in the picture gallery, which someone had said lay at the back of the house, Amberley went to the archway and glanced up and down the passage.
One end to the right of the arch was lit up; the other lay in shadow, as though to indicate that that portion of the house was not being used tonight. Amberley guessed that it led to the servants' quarters and the back stairs, and turned right.
The floor was carpeted in pile that deadened the sound of footsteps. Various doors, one labelled Ladies' Cloakroom, opened onto the passage at wide intervals; between them stood some obviously show pieces of furniture, very different from the massive mahogany that ruined the sitting room downstairs. Apparently the late Mr. Fountain had preferred the solid productions of his own period to these more graceful furnishings of an earlier age. Nor, it seemed, had his heir cared to banish the Victorian chairs and tables and cabinets in favour of these banished works of art.