Philip had no words, but his face spoke for him. Then they both turned to
listen. The newcomer had dragged a chair towards him and was leaning over
the back of it. He addressed Philip.

"We met, as you know, on the canal path that beastly afternoon," he
began. "I was jolly well ashamed of myself for having made love to
Beatrice, and all the rest of it, and you were mad with rage. We had a
sort of tussle and you threw me into the canal. It was a nasty dark spot
just underneath the bridge. I expect I was stunned for a moment,
but it was only for a moment. I came to long before I choked, and when I
remembered your grip upon my throat, I decided I was safer where I was. I
could swim like a duck, you know, and though it was filthy water I took a
long dive. When I came up again--gad, what disgusting water it was!--you
were tearing off like a creature possessed. That's the true history of
our little fracas."

"But afterwards?" Philip asked wonderingly. "What happened afterwards?"

"You just tell them all about it," Beatrice ordered him sternly. "Go on,
Douglas."

"Well, you see," Douglas Romilly continued, "I was just going to scramble
out on to the bank when my brain began to work, and I swam slowly along
instead. You see, just then I was in a devil of a mess. I'd spent a lot
of money, and though I'd kept the credit of the firm good, I knew that
the business was bust, and the one thing I was anxious about was to get
off to America without being stopped. I've explained this all to
Beatrice, and why I didn't send for her before. Anyway, I swam along
until I met with an old barge. I climbed in and got two of the choicest
blackguards you ever saw to let me spend an hour or two in their filthy