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she exclaimed, “Oh – it is – you!”
    “Yes, it is I,” the man said in an entirely different accent. “You slipped away without saying goodnight.”
    “I have – nothing to say – and you had no right, sir, to – speak to me.’
    “But I want to speak to you.”
    “You should not have – come here – please go – away.”
    The Marquis had the idea that the woman was trying to shut the door.
    Then she gave a cry,
    “No! No! You are not to come in! Go away – go away at – once!’
    “I want to talk to you.”
    ‘P-please – leave me alone, – you cannot come into my – bedroom!”
    “Ha! But I am in! What do you intend to do about it?”
    “You have no right – I shall scream for help if you don’t – leave at – once!”
    “I doubt if the innkeeper or anyone else will hear you. They are very busy downstairs.”
    “Will you please – go? I have – gone to bed – and I have – nothing to say to – you.”
    “But I have a great deal to say to you! You are very lovely, Miss Clifford. You see, I have learnt your name, even though you would not give it to me.”
    “Y-you must – leave – it is wrong, you know it is wrong – to force your way into my – bedroom like this!”
    “I see nothing wrong about it and if you will stop putting on these airs and graces we can enjoy ourselves.”
    “I don’t – know what you mean – please go – please, please leave me – alone !”
    “That, my dear, is something I have no intention of doing. Now come along and be sensible. You attract me. I have not seen anyone so lovely for a long time.”
    The man must have moved and now there was a scream that was unmistakably one of fear.
    “ No – no!”
    Quite suddenly the Marquis sat up in bed.
    It was intolerable, he thought, that not only should he be disturbed but also that any woman should be insulted in this disgraceful manner.
    He realised from the conversation after the man had entered her room that he was in fact a gentleman. The way he had spoken to bring her to the door had been the assumed voice of how he thought a servant would speak.
    Now his tones were cultured, although at the same time slurred, which told the Marquis that he had been drinking. The Marquis was no prude and, if he desired a woman, he pursued her. But he would not have considered it sporting to foist his attentions on any woman who was clearly unwilling. Certainly he would not have approached one who was travelling alone and was therefore unprotected and extremely vulnerable.
    There was another scream and now the Marquis jumped out of bed and, pulling on his robe, opened his own door and went into the passage.
    The door of the room next door was closed and he opened it without knocking.
    As he entered, he saw as he had expected a woman struggling desperately in the arms of a man.
    The Marquis recognised him immediately as a habitual race-goer.
    Known as Sir Jocelyn Threnton he was to be found at the bar of any Racecourse and his associates were those whom the Marquis suspected of evading where possible the rules of the Jockey Club.
    Sir Jocelyn was so intent on trying to kiss the woman in his arms he did not see the Marquis enter.
    Torilla therefore saw him first.
    “Help me! Help me!” she cried out.
    In two strides the Marquis crossed the small room and taking Sir Jocelyn by the shoulder pulled him round to face him.
    “Get out of here!” he shouted at him.
    Sir Jocelyn started to say furiously,
    “What the hell’s it got to do with – ?”
    Then as he realised who he was speaking to, his voice died away into silence.
    “Get out!”
    There was no need for the Marquis to say any more.
    Sir Jocelyn opened his lips as if either to explain his behaviour or query the Marquis’s authority to give him orders, then thought better of it.
    With a look of defiance on his face, but at once and without dignity, he slouched out of the room and there was the sound of his footsteps clattering down the oak stairs.
    The