'You must just have one more drink with me before we go, said the best man; 'there's heaps of time.

'I think perhaps it would be a mistake if I did, said Peter.

Paul and his best man refilled their glasses with brandy.

'It is a funny thing, said Alastair Digby‑VaneTrumpington. 'No one could have guessed that when I had the Boller blind in my rooms it was going to end like this.

Paul turned the liqueur round in his glass, inhaled its rich bouquet for a second, and then held it before him.

'To Fortune, he said, 'a much‑rnaligned lady!

'Which of you gentlemen is Mr Paul Pennyfeather?

Paul put down his glass and turned to find an elderly rnan of military appearance standing beside him.

'I am, he said. 'But I'm afraid that, if you're from the Press, I really haven't time…

'I'm Inspector Bruce, of Scotland Yard, said the stranger. 'Will you be so good as to speak to me for a minute outside?

'Really, officer, said Paul, 'I'm in a great hurry. I suppose it's about the men to guard the presents. You should have come to me earlier.

'It's not about presents, and I couldn't have come earlier. The warrant for your arrest has only this minute been issued.

'Look here, said Alastair Digby‑Vane‑Trumpington, 'don't be an ass. You've got the wrong man. They'll laugh at you like blazes over this at Scotland Yard. This is the Mr Pennyfeather who's being married to‑day.

'I don't know anything about that, said Inspector Bruce. 'All I know is, there's a warrant out for his arrest, and that anything he says may be used as evidence against him. And as for you, young man, I shouldn't attempt to obstruct an officer of the law, not if I was you.

'It's all some ghastly mistake, said Paul. 'I suppose I must go with this man. Try and get on to Margot and explain to her.

Sir Alastair's amiable pink face gaped blank astonishment. 'Good God, he said, 'how damned funny! At least it would be at any other time. But Peter, deadly white, had left the restaurant.

Paul's trial, which took place some weeks later at the Old Bailey, was a bitter disappointment to the public, the news editors, and the jury and counsel concerned. The arrest at the Ritz, the announcement at St Margaret's that the wedding was postponed, Margot's flight to Corfu, the refusal of bail, the meals sent in to Paul on covered dishes from Boulestin's, had been 'front‑page stories' every day. After all this, Paul's conviction and sentence were a lame conclusion. At first he pleaded guilty on all charges, despite the entreaties of his counsel, but eventually he was galvanized into some show of defence by the warning of the presiding judge that the law allowed punishment with the cat‑o'‑nine tails for offences of this sort. Even these things were very flat. Potts as chief witness for the prosecution was unshakeable and was later warmly commended by the court; no evidence, except of previous good conduct, was offered by the defence; Margot Beste‑Chetwynde's name was not mentioned, though the judge in passing sentence remarked that 'no one could be ignorant of the callous insolence with which, on the very eve of arrest for this most infamous of crimes, the accused had been preparing to join his name with one honoured in his country's history, and to drag down to his own pitiable depths of depravity a lady of beauty, rank, and stainless reputation. The just censure of society, remarked the judge, 'is accorded to those so inconstant and intemperate that they must take their pleasures in the unholy market of humanity that still sullies the fame of our civilization; but for the traders themselves, these human vampires who prey upon the degradation of their species, socicty has reserved the right of ruthless suppression. So Paul was sent off to prison, and the papers headed the column they reserve for home events of minor importance with 'Prison for Ex‑Society Bridegroom. Judge on Human Vampires', and there, as far as the public were concerned, the matter ended.

Before this happened, however, a conversation took place which deserves the attention of all interested in the confused series of events of which Paul had become a part. One day, while he was waiting for trial, he was visited in his cell by Peter Beste‑Chetwynde.

'Hullo! he said.

'Hullo, Paul! said Peter. 'Mamma asked me to come in to see you. She wants to know if you are getting the food all right she's ordered for you. I hope you like it, because I chose most of it myself. I thought you wouldn't want anything very heavy.

'It's splendid, said Paul. 'How's Margot?

'Well, that's rather what I've come to tell you, PauL Margot's gone away.

'Where to?

'She's gone off alone to Corfu. I made her, though she wanted to stay and see your trial. You can imagine what a time we've had with reporters and people. You don't think it awful of her, do you? And listen, there's something else. Can that policeman hear? It's this. You remember that awful old man Maltravers. Well, you've probably seen, he's Home Secretary now. He's been round to see Mamma in the most impossible Oppenheim kind of way, and said that if she'd marry him he could get you out. Of course, he's obviously been reading books. But Mamma thinks it's probably true, and she wants to know how you feel about it. She rather feels the whole thing's rather her fault, really, and, short of going to prison herself, she'll do anything to help. You can't imagine Mamma in prison, can you? Well, would you rather get out now and her marry Maltravers? or wait until you do get out and marry her yourself? She was rather definite about it.

Paul thought of Professor Silenus's 'In ten years she will be worn out, but he said:

'I'd rather she waited if you think she possibly can.

'I thought you'd say that, Paul. I'm so glad. Mamma said: "I won't say I don't know how I shall ever be able to make up to him for all this, because I think he knows I can." Those were her words. I don't suppose you will get more than a year or so, will you?

'Good Lord, I hope not, said Paul.

His sentence of seven years' penal servitude was rather a blow. 'In ten years she will be worn out, he thought as he drove in the prison van to Blackstone Gaol.

On his first day there Paul met quite a number of people, some of whom he knew already. The first person was a warder with a low brow and distinctly menacing manner. He wrote Paul's name in the 'Body Receipt Book' with some difficulty and then conducted him to a cell. He had evidently been reading the papers.

'Rather different from the Ritz Hotel, eh? he said. 'We don't like your kind 'ere, see? And we knows 'ow to treat 'em. You won't find nothing like the Ritz 'ere, you dirty White Slaver.

But there he was wrong, because the next person Paul met was Philbrick. His prison clothes were ill‑fitting, and his chin was unshaven, but he still wore an indefinable air of the grand manner.

'Thought I'd be seeing you soon, he said. 'They've put me on to reception bath cleaner, me being an old hand. I've been saving the best suit I could find for you. Not a louse on it, hardly. He threw a little pile of clothes, stamped with the broad arrow, on to the bench.

The warder returned with another, apparently his superior officer. Together they made a careful inventory of all Paul's possessions.

'Shoes, brown, one pair; socks, fancy, one pair; suspenders, black silk, one pair, read out the warder in a sing‑song voice. 'Never saw a bloke with so much clothes.

There were several checks due to difficulties of spelling, and it was some time before the list was finished.