"
Francis stepped across the deck towards where Lady Cynthia had
been sitting by her host's side. They had passed into the mouth
of a tree-hung strip of the river. The engine was suddenly shut
off. A gong was sounded. There was a murmur, almost a sob of
relief, as the little sprinkling of men and women rose hastily to
their feet and made their way towards the companion-way.
Downstairs, in the saloon, with its white satinwood panels and
rows of swing chairs, heavy curtains were drawn across the
portholes, all outside light was shut out from the place. At the
further end, raised slightly from the floor, was a sanded circle.
Sir Timothy made his way to one of the pillars by its side and
turned around to face the little company of his guests. His
voice, though it seemed scarcely raised above a whisper, was
extraordinarily clear and distinct. Even Francis, who, with Lady
Cynthia, had found seats only just inside the door, could hear
every word he said.
"My friends," he began, "you have often before been my guests at
such small fights as we have been able to arrange in as
unorthodox a manner as possible between professional boxers.
There has been some novelty about them, but on the last occasion
I think it was generally observed that they had become a little
too professional, a little ultra-scientific.
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