"By the way, Jimmy," said Molly, as they went down the hill. "Can you
act?"

"Can I what?"

"Act. In theatricals, you know."

"I've never tried. But I've played poker, which I should think is much
the same."

"We are going to do a play, and we want another man. The man who was
going to play one of the parts has had to go back to London."

"Poor devil! Fancy having to leave a place like this and go back to
that dingy, overrated town."

* * * * *

The big drawing-room of the abbey was full when they arrived. Tea was
going on in a desultory manner. In a chair at the far end of the room,
Sir Thomas Blunt surveyed the scene gloomily through the smoke of a
cigarette. The sound of Lady Blunt's voice had struck their ears as
they opened the door. The Maxim gun was in action with no apparent
prospect of jamming. The target of the moment was a fair,
tired-looking lady, with a remarkable resemblance to Spennie. Jimmy
took her to be his hostess. There was a resigned expression on her
face, which he thoroughly understood. He sympathized with her.

The other occupants of the room stared for a moment at Jimmy in the
austere manner peculiar to the Briton who sees a stranger, and then