"Charge dismissed; I congratulate you, Mr. Wynn," he said genially.
"There wasn't a shred of real evidence against you; though they tried to
make a lot out of that bit of withered geranium found in your
waste-paper basket; just because the housekeeper remembered that
Cassavetti had a red flower in his buttonhole when he came in; but I was
able to smash that point at once, thanks to your cousin."

He bowed towards Mary, who, as soon as she saw me recovering, had
slipped away, and was pretending to adjust her hat before a dingy
mirror.

"Why, what did Mary do?"

"Passed me a note saying that you had the buttonhole when you left the
Cecil. I called her as a witness and she gave her evidence splendidly."

"Lots of the men had them," Mary put in hurriedly. "I had one, too, and
so did Anne--quite a bunch. And my! I should like to know what that
housekeeper had been about not to empty the waste-paper basket before.
I don't suppose he's touched your rooms since you left them, Maurice!"

"It might have been a very difficult point," Sir George continued
judicially; "the only one, in fact. For Lord Southbourne's evidence
disposed of the theory the police had formed that you had returned
earlier in the evening, and that when you did go in and found the door
open your conduct was a mere feint to avert suspicion. And then there
was the entire lack of motive, and the derivative evidence that more
than one person--and one of them a woman--had been engaged in ransacking
the rooms. Yes, it was a preposterous charge!"

"But it served its purpose all right," drawled Southbourne, strolling
forward. "They'd have taken their time if I'd set them on your track
just because you had disappeared. Congratulations, Wynn. You've had more
than enough handshaking, so I won't inflict any more on you. Wonder what
scrape you'll find yourself in next?"

"He won't have the chance of getting into any more for some time to
come. I shall take care of that!" Mary asserted, with pretty severity.
"Put his collar on, Jim; and we'll get him into the brougham."

"My motor's outside, Mrs. Cayley. Do have that. It's quicker and
roomier. Come on, Wynn; take my arm; that's all right. You stand by on
his other side, Cayley. Sir George, will you take Mrs. Cayley and fetch
the motor round to the side entrance? We'll follow."

I guess I'd misjudged him in the days when I'd thought him a
cold-blooded cynic. He had certainly proved a good friend to me right
throu