All that they remembered was a most amazing spectacle,--the spectacle of Wingate walking quietly to the door with Dredlinton in his arms, kicking and shouting smothered profanities, but absolutely powerless to free himself.

The door was opened by a waiter, and Wingate passed into the corridor.

A _maitre d'hotel,_ with presence of mind, hurried up to him.
"Have you an empty room with a key ?" Wingate asked.
The man led the way and pushed open the door of a small apartment used on busy occasions for a service room.

Wingate thrust in his struggling burden and locked the door.
"Strong panels ?" he enquired, pausing for a moment to listen to the blows directed upon them.
The head waiter smiled.
"They're more than one man can break through, sir," he assured him.
Wingate made his way back to the supper party.

Half of the guests were on their feet.