"Don't move!" she directed him coldly. "Mr. Ridley, you are far from home. May I ask what brings you here?"

"We heard this morning that you were here, your Grace," he replied, hurrying closer. "Then we found out that Mr. Cranshawe was on his way here too."

"We?" asked Henry.

Her answer came in the form of a loud bark from the other side of the hedge, followed by voices.

"Where did he disappear?" called a high, piping voice that was unmistakably Penelope's.

"Into the meadow, silly. I hope Trevors was right. He said they came this way. Let's go, Pen." The voice was Philip's.

"Wait for Manny. She's all tired out from running," yelled Penelope.

A few moments later, there was a new invasion of the field. Brutus was in the lead. He rushed first to Henry in an ecstasy of recognition, and then to Cranshawe, who was still stranded, motionless, in the middle of the meadow, his attention fixed on the pistol. Brutus seemed unable to make up his mind if this person was friend or foe. He settled the problem for the time being by flopping to the ground and fixing Cranshawe with an unwavering stare. He panted heavily and occasionally growled.

Philip, Penelope, and an exhausted-looking Miss Manf6rd came next.

"Henry!" Penelope yelled.

"Oh, I say," said Philip, "a gun. Are you going to shoot him, Henry?"

"Oh, bless my soul," Miss Manford gasped, "are you safe, dear girl? Please put down the gun. There is no need to kill Mr. Cranshawe, indeed there is not. Mr. Ridley is here to protect you."

"Come, Henry," Cranshawe coaxed, his voice not quite under control, "you really must do as you are told. There are witnesses now, you know."

"Yes, but friendly witnesses," she replied, and I have not changed my mind. I want you to sweat and squirm for a while, Oliver. Maybe you will have an inkling of what I have been through in the last weeks. Don't come any closer, please, Mr. Ridley. You will be close to my line of fire if you do."

"Really, your Grace, I sympathize with your feelings," Ridley said calmly. "I know much of what he has made you suffer. But nothing can be gained from bloodshed and violence. Give me the gun." He held out his hand slowly, but he did not move from where he stood, about twenty-five feet from Henry.

"Oh, James, do be careful," Miss Manford wailed.

"She is quite mad, as you see, Ridley," Cranshavve said. He was recovering his poise somewhat. The lengthy delay seemed to be to his advantage. Henry's arm would tire soon.

"Read them that paper," Henry ordered coldly.

"What?"

"The paper that you still hold in your hand-read it!" she repeated.

"Don't be ridiculous, Henry."

"Read it!"

There was a pause of some seconds. Finally Cranshawe lowered his head and began to read.

"Louder!" she directed.

He read what was written on the paper in a loud, clear voice.

"Now, Mr. Ridley, would you take it from Mr. Cranshawel please? I do not really want to have it spattered with his blood."

Ridley did as he was bid, pleading with Henry all the while. Finally he moved to one side and Cranshawe was again isolated in the middle of the meadow. Philip and Penelope stood at the other side of the field, one of Miss Manford's hands on a shoulder of each. Henry adjusted the pistol so that it was again in line with Cranshaw's right arm. Again she raised her left arm to steady her wrist.

"Drop the gun, Henry!" said a cool, authoritative voice from the gap in the hedge. The words were not shouted, but they accomplished what all the commotion of the previous few minutes had failed to do. The pistol immediately dropped to the ground from nerveless fingers as

Henry turned her head toward her husband. Cranshawe visibly sagged with relief.

"You!" Henry said. "What are you doing here?"

"The same as everyone else, I presume," Eversleigh said, strolling unhurriedly forward, viewing the beauties of nature." He lifted his quizzing glass to his eye as he gradually approached Cranshawe.

"Oliver!" he said, affecting surprise. I did mot know you were one of nature's devotees."

"I never thought I should be glad to see you, Marius," Cranshawe said, his self-assurance visibly restored. "Your wife was just about to kill me. She should be locked up in a madhouse."

Three voices chorused from the sidelines.

"Don't talk about my sister like that!"

"Don't listen to him, your Grace. He's a black-hearted villain.'' -

"Oh, bless my soul, what an evil man."

Brutus growled threateningly.

"There is a letter here that you should read, your Grace," Ridley said calmly from his place to one side of Henry.

"I heard it, thank you, James," Eversleigh replied. I think it would be rash of you to thank me for saving your arm, dear boy," he continued, turning his attention and his quizzing glass back to his heir. "I stopped Henry only because I could not possibly deny myself the pleasure of dealing with you myself."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Henry exclaimed, fury animating her again. "Why should men get all the satisfaction of working out their anger? This one is mine!" She strode determinedly toward Cranshawe, and before he could see what was coming and react, she had raised her fist and driven it with all her strength into his face. Her target had been his nose. She missed and connected with one eye instead. Her sapphire ring gashed him just below the eye.

"Little vixen!" Cranshawe gasped, clamping one hand over the wounded side of his face.

There was a chorus of cheers from the background, including some from Miss Manford. Brutus leapt to his feet, barking with excitement,

"Bravo, Henry!" Eversleigh said quietly. "Now stand aside, my love." He beckoned Ridley to his side, carefully removed his coat, and handed it to his secretary.

"I suggest that you do likewise, Oliver," he said amiably. I do believe you will be measuring your length on the ground rather soon, and there might be some bloodshed. I would think it a shame to ruin a perfectly good coat, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, this is just the type of situation you like, is it not, Marius?" replied his cousin bitterly. "You can show off your superior physical strength in front of an appreciative audience.''

"I know it is not your style, Oliver," Eversleigh replied calmly, unbuttoning the lace cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves back to the elbows. "You prefer to wound your opponents through women and through lies and trickery. Unfortunately, dear fellow, on this occasion you have no choice.

Cranshawe grimly pulled off his coat and tossed it from him. H is eye was already beginning to swell, the onlook- ers noted with satisfaction.

Really, the fight was disappointing when it finally got started, Philip confided to a small audience later. Eversleigh's very first punch-a right jab to the chin-produced a crunching sound and Cranshawe fell backward. He scrambled to his feet again, but spent the rest of the unequal contest defending himself. He did manage to land one lucky punch on Eversleigh's mouth; he even drew blood. But one punch after another of Eversleigh's was a potential leveler.

Cranshawe's weakening guard would drop to protect his ribs and stomach after the breath had been knocked out of his body by a well-placed fist, and then the same fist would punish his face and jaw. When he chose to protect his head, then his body was pummeled. To his credit, he did not go down easily the second time, but in the end he was swaying on his feet, his hands, still held in loose fists, hanging useless at his side.

Eversleigh held his opponent by the right shoulder, while he threw all his weight behind the finalunch, a wicked right hook that caught Cranshawe squarely below the chin and snapped his head back. The duke released his hold and watched his cousin crumple to the ground.

There was a curious silence among the onlookers. Even Brutus, standing to one side, was only panting. Henry broke the spell.