Courts of Idleness by Dornford Yates Page A

these paths. Besides, with that wound in your foot—”
    “It is an ugly gash, isn’t it?” said Fay cheerfully. “Think they’ll be able to stitch it up all right? I admit the situation’s pretty desperate,” she went on thoughtfully. “But, as a last resort, don’t you think we might take the pin out of the shoe?”
    “How stupid of me!” said Fettering, sitting down and picking up the slipper. “I apologize. Will you shake it out, or shall I?”
    “Idiot!” said Fay, laughing in spite of herself. “Haven’t you got a knife, or anything?”
    Fettering shook his head.
    “Not in these trousers.”
    They wasted another five minutes endeavouring to press the drawing-pin out with a coin, but all their efforts to dislodge it proved unavailing.
    When he had pricked himself for the third time Surrey Fettering raised his eyes to heaven, swore and rose to his feet.
    “What are you going to do?” wailed Fay, weak with laughter.
    “Take it to the nearest forge,” he said bitterly. “This is a blacksmith’s job. I don’t suppose they’ve got any anvils at the hotel.”
    “Not in every room, anyway,” rejoined Fay, pulling herself together. “But if you ask at the office, they’ll probably give you a pair of scissors.”
    Surrey stood reflectively drumming with his fingertips upon the slipper’s sole.
    “And all this comes of having small pink feet the size of a baby’s,” he said dreamily. “If I’d been able to get more than one finger at a time into the toe, I could have got it out.” He paused to lick the blood off his forefinger. “Grey Eyes, I have bled for you. How will you ever repay me?”
    “If you’re very quick,” said Fay darkly, “I will hold my tongue.”
     
    While the girls in the office were searching for a pair of scissors, Fettering seized the opportunity of changing a five-pound note at the bureau on the other side of the entrance to the hotel. Just when he was in the throes of his first struggle to reduce pounds to reis, and trying literally to think in thousands, Bill Fairie and Betty entered the ball. Even if they had not stopped to inquire for letters, they could hardly have missed the shoe, which was reposing in solitary state on the mahogany before the office window. Betty looked at it curiously, remarking that it was of the same shape as her own. Then she looked at it closely, exclaimed, and picked it up.
    “What are you doing?” said Bill. “Put it down, Bet – it’s not your shoe!”
    “But it is,” said Betty, staring round the hall. “I know it by this scrape on the leather. Besides, no one else—”
    “Where?” said her husband, taking it out of her hand, “Are you sure?” he added, examining the graze.
    “Positive. But who on earth—”
    “Ask them here, in the office,” replied her husband. “Perhaps Falcon—”
    “Excuse me,” said a quiet voice behind them, “but that’s – er – my shoe.”
    They swung round to find Surrey Fettering standing with outstretched hand.
    Instinctively, Fairie made as though he would hand it over. Then he hesitated.
    “I’m sure you’ll forgive me,” he said courteously. “But – er – are you quite sure? I mean—”
    “Perfectly,” replied Fettering. “I’ve only just laid it down.”
    “But it’s mine!” cried Betty.
    “Yours?” said Fettering. “But that’s impossible. I’ve only just—”
    “I’m sure you have, if you say so,” said Fairie. “But that doesn’t make it yours. And my wife has identified it as her own. If you would say how you came by it,” he added civilly, “I’m sure the misunderstanding—”
    “I can only ask you to hand it to me at once,” said Fettering stiffly. “I have to return it to a lady.”
    “But it isn’t hers,” said Betty indignantly, turning to her husband. “I tell you it’s mine.”
    “I must insist on your giving it to me at once,” said Fettering firmly. “The lady to whom it belongs—”
    “Why, Surrey!” said a gentle voice