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  He loves those hams of his like sons. What are those things sheep have?"

  "Lambs?"

  "Yes, but some special breed of lambs."

  "Ewe lambs?"

  "That's right. The Paramount Ham is old Duff's ewe lamb. He started out with it, and the rest of the business means nothing to him. A nice frame of mind he'll be in to listen to the voice of reason after seeing Mrs Chavender."

  It is the woman's part at times like this to stimulate and encourage.

  "Oh, you'll be able to talk him round," said Sally hopefully.

  "You think so?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't," said Lord Holbeton. "And I'll tell you why. Because I'm not going within fifty ruddy miles of him."

  "Oh, George!"

  "And," added Lord Holbeton, "it's no good saying 'Oh, George: I'd rather hobnob with a wounded puma."

  "But he isn't as terrible as all that."

  "You've never seen him."

  ''I've seen his picture. When you buy a Paramount Ham you get it thrown in, on the wrapper. I thought he looked an old pet."

  Lord Holbeton blinked,

  "An old pet?"

  "Yes.''

  "An old pet?" said Lord Holbeton, still not quite sure that he had heard aright. "What about those eyebrows?"

  "Rather dressy. I admired them."

  Lord Holbeton decided to abandon a fruitless discussion. On the subject of J. Buchanan Duff it was plain that this girl and he were poles apart and could never hope to find a formula.

  "Well, if that's how you feel," he said, " why don't you go and tackle him?"

  "All right," said Sally. "I will."

  Lord Holbeton stared. His question had been intended in a purely satirical spirit, and her literal acceptance of it stunned him.

  For an instant compunction gripped him. She seemed so young, so frail to go up against one who even on his good mornings resembled something out of the Book of Revelations.

  Then there swept over him the thought of what a lot of unpleasantness this would save him. If somebody had to go over

  Niagara Falls in a barrel how much more agreeable if it were not he.

  "You don't mean that?"

  "I do."

  "Will you really?"

  "Certainly. Who's afraid?"

  "Be prepared for those eyebrows."

  ''I 'm looking forward to them."

  "You might be able to get to him before Mrs Chavender."

  "Not if she's in the Rolls and I'm in the two-seater."

  "No, that's true. Then we must just hope for the best."

  "That's what we must hope for."

  "And all this," said Lord Holbeton, "could have been avoided if only the woman had taken scrambled eggs. That's Life, I suppose."

  "That's Life," agreed Sally.

  Chapter II

  THE PREMISES of Duff and Trotter, those human benefactors at the mention of whose name every discriminating Londoner raises a reverent hat, occupy an island site in the neighbourhood of Regent Street. The patron enters through a swing door and, having done so, finds himself in a sort of cathedral given over to a display of the merchandise which has made the firm famous. Here are pies; there fruit; over yonder soups and groceries; further on, jams, marmalades, caviares and potted meats. The Paramount Ham, in its capacity of ewe lamb to the managing director, has a shrine to itself.

  Most of the Duff and Trotter business being conducted over the telephone, one finds here none of the squash and bustle of baser establishments. Only a sprinkling of duchesses with watering mouths and a few earls licking their lips were present at eleven o'clock that morning when Joss Weatherby came in and started to thread his way through the groves of eatables.

  Joss Weatherby did the posters for Paramount Ham, a lean, cheerful, loose-limbed young man who bore up extraordinarily well under a task which might easily have soured one of a less ebullient temperament. This was probably due to the fact that he ate well, slept well and enjoyed a perfect digestion-in which respect he differed from his employer, whose alimentary canal gave him a good deal of trouble.

  His course, as he headed for Mr Duff's private office on the second floor, took him past the fruits and vegetables, and though hampered by a large portfolio under one arm he was able with his free hand to collect a bunch of grapes and a custard apple while flitting by. The disposal of the last of the grapes synchronized with his arrival at the outer cubbyhole occupied by Miss Daphne Hesseltyne, Mr Duff's secretary.

  "Good morning, young Lollipop," he said courteously.

  "Good evening," said Miss Hesseltyne, who had a great gift for repartee. "This is a nice time for coming in. You were supposed to be here at ten."

  "I unfortunately overslept myself this morning. A man took me to one of those charity gambling places last night. You will be glad to hear that I cleaned up big in a crap game. Have a custard apple? It's on the house. The fruit and veg. department has just given of its plenty."

  "Have you been pinching fruit again? You remember how Mr Duff told you off last time."

  "But this time I defied detection. My fingers just flickered."

  "Well, you'd better go in. He's waiting for you. And let me tell you he's as cross as two sticks. He's got indigestion again."

  "Poor, unhappy wreck. I sometimes feel the best thing he could do would be to throw himself away and start afresh. But he won't be cross with me. Not with lovable old Weatherby. Did I ever tell you that I once saved him from drowning back in America? Stick your head through the transom and watch how his face lights up when I appear."

  The inner office was, however, empty when Joss entered. It was only after he had banged cheerily on the desk with a paperweight, at the same time shouting a jovial "Bring out your dead," that Mr Duff came in from the little balcony outside the window, where he had been attempting to alleviate his dyspepsia by deep breathing.

  "Aha, J. B.," said Joss sunnily. "Good morrow."

  "Oh, you're there, are you?" said Mr Duff, making no attempt to emulate his junior's effervescence.

  The managing director of Duff and Trotter was a large man who, after an athletic youth, had allowed himself to put on weight. In his college days he had been a hammer thrower of some repute, and he was looking as if he wished he had a hammer now and could throw it as Joss. The eyebrows of which Lord Holbeton had spoken so feelingly were drawn together in a solid line, and the eyes beneath them glared malignantly. They seemed to light up the room, and only a young man with the nerve of an

  Army mule, which Joss was fortunate enough to possess, could have met them without quailing.

  "You're late!" he boomed.

  "Not really," said Joss.

  "What the devil do you mean, not really? "

  "A man like me always seems to be later than he is. That is because people sit yearning for him. They get all tense, listening for his footstep, and every minute seems an hour. Well, J. B., they tell me you've got the collywobbles again. If true, too bad."

  "You were supposed to be here at ten."

  "As I was just explaining to the Hesseltyne half portion, I overslept myself. I got into a crap game last night, and swept through the opposition like a devouring flame. You would have been proud of me.

  "So you gamble, do you? "

  "Only once in a blue moon. I wish you wouldn't talk as if I were a Greek Syndicate. Well, now to business. I've brought you my sketches for the new posters of ye Ham Paramount. I don't know if they're any good."

  "They aren't. "

  "You've not seen them."

  "I don't have to."

  Joss eyed him coldly. He was extremely fond of his employer, but he inclined to the view that it would do him all the good in the world if somebody occasionally kicked him in the stomach.

  "I don't know if you know it, J. B., but you're the sort of fellow who causes hundreds to fall under suspicion when he's found stabbed in his library with a paper knife of oriental design."

  Mr Duff stiffened.

  "I don't know
if you know it, young man, but you get fresher and fresher every time I see you. And you were fresh enough to start with. If this sort of thing goes on I shall fire you."

  "Nonsense. Why, I saved your life."

  "Yes, and the way I'm feeling this morning, I'd like to sue you. Well? "

  The question was addressed to Miss Hesseltyne, who had entered from her outer lair.

  "There's· a lady to see you, Mr Duff."

  "Heavily veiled and diffusing a strange, exotic scent," said Joss. "I suppose they're in and out of here all the time."

  "Could you shut your trap for a moment? " asked Mr Duff.

  "I suppose so, if it's absolutely necessary," said Joss.

  "Who is she? "

  "Her name is Mrs Chavender."

  "What!"

  It was as if Miss Hesseltyne had struck her overlord with a meat axe. He rocked back on his heels and seemed to give at every joint.

  Joss was frowning thoughtfully.

  "Chavender? Chavender? I know a Mrs Chavender. I wonder if it's the same. Tell her to come right up. "

  Mr Duff barked like a sea-lion.

  "Don't you do anything of the sort. What do you mean, giving orders in my office? Say I'm out."

  ''Yes sir."

  Joss was surprised.

  "Why this coyness, J. B. ? If it's the Mrs Chavender I know, you'll like her. She's a terrific old sport. I painted her portrait at Palm Beach two years ago. "

  Miss Hesseltyne re-entered.

  "I couldn't get the lady, sir, to tell her. She was on her way up."

  Mr Duff had begun to exhibit all the mannerisms of a trapped creature of the wild.

  "I'm off!"

  "You'll meet her in the passage," said Joss, and Mr Duff paused with his fingers on the door handle. Joss, though still at a loss, felt a pang of compassion.

  "Well, I can't follow your thought processes, J. B. but if you really wish to elude this very charming lady you'd better hop out onto the balcony. I'll close the window behind you. "

  The advice seemed admirable to Mr Duff. He shot out like a rabbit. He had scarcely disappeared, when there was a brisk bang upon the door and the visitor sailed into the room. In her right hand, like the banner with the strange device, she bore a cardboard box.

  Expecting to see Mr Duff and finding in his stead a beardless stripling, Mrs Chavender seemed taken aback.

  "Hullo, where's Jimmy? "

  "He has had to step out for a moment."

  "And who are you? "

  "His best friend and severest critic. My name is Weatherby.

  I'm afraid you have forgotten me, Mrs Chavender."

  Mrs Chavender had produced a lorgnette.

  "Well, I'll be darned. You're the boy who painted my portrait."

  "That's right. Have you still got it? "

  "I gave it to my sister-in-law's husband, Howard Steptoe. I live with them. It's hanging in the breakfast room,"

  ''I'll bet it gives the household a rare appetite. One look at it, and they're in among the eggs and bacon like wolves."

  "I see you're still as fresh as ever."

  "It's odd how people persist in describing me as fresh. I should have said that I just had a sort of easy affability of manner. Mr Duff was complaining of my freshness only this morning. It seemed to be spoiling his day,"

  "Do you work for him?"

  "He would tell you I didn't, but I do, like a beaver. I'm one of the staff artists."

  "From what you say, it sounds as if he had become a grouch.

  Is he married?"

  "No:•

  "Then that's the trouble. That's what's made him curdle. Every man ought to be married."

  "You never spoke a truer word."

  "Are you?"

  "Not yet. I'm still waiting for the right girl. When she comes along you will see quick service."

  Mrs Chavender regarded him critically.

  "You're not a bad-looking young hound."

  "Surely a conservative way of putting it."

  "What's Jimmy like these days? He had his moments, when I knew him."

  "Traces of the old fascination remain. In a dim light he still casts a spell. I'll draw you a picture of him, shall I?"

  The sketch which Joss dashed off on a piece of Duff and Trotter note paper was a hasty one and leaned somewhat in the direction of caricature; but Mrs Chavender greeted it with appreciative cries.

  "That's Jimmy, all right. But you've made him happier looking than he will be when I see him."

  "I beg your pardon?'

  "He'll be dancing with tears in his eyes, believe me. Cast a glance at this."

  Joss peered into the cardboard box.

  "It looks like ham."

  "Yes, let's be fair. I suppose there is a sort of superficial resemblance. It's a clipping from one of Jimmy's Paramounts. I've come to complain about it."

  Joss looked swiftly at the ceiling. It had not fallen, but he felt that it must have been a near thing.

  "Complain? About Paramount Ham?"

  "It's a disgrace to a proud industry and an imposition on a trusting public. Nine tenths of it is flabby fat. The remainder appears to be composed of pink elastic."

  "You weren't intending to tell J. B. that? You'll break his heart."

  "I want to."

  "Thank heaven he's out."

  "How long is he going to be out?''

  "It may be for years or it may be forever."

  "And I can't wait, darn it. I've got to get to Brighton. I'm presenting the prizes at a girls' school. You'll have to act as my agent.

  Call me up and tell me how he took it. Loose Chippings 803 is the number. Or, if you prefer to write, the address is Claines Hall, Loose Chippings, Sussex. Well, I must be getting along. Nice to have seen you again. Listen, what do I say to a bunch of schoolgirls?"

  "'Hullo, girls,' or something like that?"

  "That would be fine, if my speech hadn't got to last three quarters of an hour and inspire them to become good wives and mothers.

  Oh, well, I guess I'll think of something on the way down."

  Joss, returning from escorting her to the elevator, found that Mr Duff had emerged from hiding. He was sitting at the desk, mopping his brow.

  "Phew! " he said. "That was a narrow escape. Get me a glass of sherry."

  "Sherry?''

  "There's some in that cupboard over there."

  "So you keep sherry in your cupboard, do you?" said Joss, interested. "Secret drinker, eh? Tell me, J. B. , why didn't you want to meet Mrs Chavender?''

  A glassy, hunted look came into Mr Duff's eyes.

  "We were engaged to be married once. "

  "Ah!" said Joss, understanding. He knew his employer to be as sturdy a bachelor as ever shivered at the sound of a wedding bell.

  Sturdy bachelors, he was aware, are often averse from reunions with their old loves.

  "I don't like this business of her calling at my office," said Mr Duff, restoring himself with sherry. "It's sinister. What did she want? I couldn't hear a thing out there."

  Joss decided to be humane. No need to break this portly butter-By on the wheel by revealing the truth.

  "She just wanted to see you and say hullo."

  "We haven't met in fifteen years."

  "Ah, but you're like the chewing gum. The taste lingers."

  "She looks just the same."

  "You saw her?''

  "Yes, I peeked in. Not changed a scrap. Same eyes. Same curling lip. Well, never mind that," said Mr Duff, recalling himself to the present. His eye took on its office-hour s expression. "Let's see those sketches."

  Joss opened the portfolio and tilted its contents onto the desk.

  There were half a dozen sketches, each showing a saucer-eyed girl , her face split by a wide grin. He arranged them in a row before his employer.

  "You remind me of an oriental monarch surrounded by his harem," he said genially. "The sultan looks them over. "

  Mr Duff was scanning the drawings with a capti
ous eye.