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Pettifer followed. "Good-night, Dick," he said, and he shook hands with his nephew very warmly. In spite of his cordiality, however, Dick's face grew hard as he watched the carriage drive away. Stella was right. The Pettifers were the enemy. Well, he had always known there would be a fight, and now the sooner it came the better.
Hazlewood's dinner-table and with the exception of the Pettifers all, owing to Dick Hazlewood's insistence, were declared partisans of Stella Ballantyne. None the less Stella came to it with hesitation. It was the first time that she had dined abroad since she had left India, now the best part of eighteen months ago, and she went forth to it as to an ordeal.
"But there's no need to ask. You look charming and upon my word you grow younger every day. What a pretty hat! Yes, yes! Will you make tea while I telephone to the Pettifers? They seem to be late." He skipped off with an alacrity which was rather ridiculous. But Stella watched him go without any amusement. "I am taken again into favour," she said doubtfully.
All was not as yet quite ready for the little trick which had been devised. The Pettifers had not arrived. "Perhaps you would like to see your room, Mr. Thresk," he said. "Your bag has been taken up, no doubt. We will look at my miniatures after tea." "I shall be delighted," said Thresk as he followed Hazlewood to the door. "But you must not expect too much knowledge from me."
"Yes, madam," the butler answered; and it seemed to Stella Ballantyne that once more she stood in the dock and heard the verdict spoken. Only this time it had gone against her. That queer old shuffling butler became a figure of doom, his thin and piping voice uttered her condemnation. For here without her knowledge was Henry Thresk and she was bidden to meet him with the Pettifers for witnesses.
"She will meet Stella here at dinner." "That will be splendid," cried the old man with enthusiasm. "Perhaps," replied his son; and the next morning the Pettifers received their invitation. Mrs. Pettifer accepted it at once. She had not been idle since Dick had left her. Before he had come she had merely looked upon the crusade as one of Harold Hazlewood's stupendous follies.
Stella went to the table and opened the little mahogany caddy. "How many are coming, Dick?" she asked. "The Pettifers." "My enemies," said Stella, laughing lightly. "And you and my father and myself." "Five altogether," said Stella. She began to measure out the tea into the tea-pot but stopped suddenly in the middle of her work. "But there are six cups," she said.
Behind him walked the Pettifers, Robert ill-at-ease and wishing himself a hundred miles away, Margaret Pettifer boiling for battle. Hazlewood himself dropped into an arm-chair. "I am very glad that you came to-night, Margaret," he said boldly. "You have seen for yourself." "Yes, I have," she replied. "Harold, there have been moments this evening when I could have screamed."
Be prepared to hear news of me. I will have a talk with you afterwards if you like. This is a trap. Be kind." He stood for a while with the letter in his hand, speculating upon its meaning, until the wheels of a car grated on the gravel beneath his window. The Pettifers had come. But Thresk was in no hurry to descend.
The Pettifers lived in a big house of the Georgian period at the bottom of an irregular square in the middle of the little town. Mrs. Pettifer was sitting in a room facing the garden at the back with the pamphlet on a little table beside her. She sprang up as Dick was shown into the room, and before he could utter a word of greeting she cried: "Dick, you are the one person I wanted to see." "Oh?"
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