This is why the odds got to six to one.
Incidentally they ensured the defeat of their man. When Burns
entered the ring tonight, it was to fight, not to box."

"That's true," said Alf Pond, nodding his head and reaching for
another cigar. "He never fought like it before in all his puff."

"And where were you last night?" enquired Mr. Papwith of Burns.

"In my bed," said Malcolm Sage, "and my friend Inspector Wensdale of
Scotland Yard and I slept here. Burns has never been out of
Wensdale's sight until we handed him over this evening."

"I've been having police protection," laughed Burns.

"Still, you didn't oughter have gone two days without doing
anythink," said Alf Pond.

"Oh! I had a bit of sparring with Mr. Sage," said Burns, "in spite
of the glasses. If you want to see some pretty foot-work, Alf, you
get him to put the gloves on."

"I knew it," cried Alf Pond, with conviction; then, turning to the
others, "Didn't I say he oughter been in the ring?"

And Malcolm Sage found relief from the admiring eyes of his guests
in gazing down at the well-bitten mouthpiece of his briar.

"But why did you let me think that Jefferson and his crowd were in
it?" enquired Burns, with corrugated brow.

"Well," said Malcolm Sage slowly, "as I had put twenty-five pounds
on you to steady Pond's nerves, I didn't want to lose it."

And Alf Pond winked gleefully across at Mr. Doulton.

CHAPTER XVII LADY DENE CALLS ON MALCOLM SAGE

"Lady Dene wishes to see you, Miss."

"Sure the Archbishop of Canterbury isn't with her, Johnnie dear?"
asked Gladys Norman sweetly, without looking up from the cleaning
of her typewriter. In her own mind she was satisfied that this was
a little joke inspired by Thompson.

"No, Miss, she's alone," replied the literal William Johnson.

"Show her Ladyship in," she said, still playing for safety. "Da----
sh!" she muttered as, having inadvertently touched the release, the
carriage slid to the left, pinching her finger in its course.

William Johnson departed, his head half turned over his right
shoulder in admiration of one who could hear with such unconcern
that a real lady had called to see her.

As her door opened for a second time, Gladys Norman assiduously kept
her eyes fixed upon her machine.

"No, Johnnie," she remarked, still without looking up. "It's no good.
Lady Denes don't call upon typists at 9.30 a.m., so buzz off, little
beanlet. I'm----"

"But this Lady Dene does."