Their unconscious brother worked on.

So did the Sealyham, but with a difference. While the one toiled, the other was in his element. A shower of earth flew from between his legs, only ceasing for a short moment, when he preferred to rend the earth with his jaws and so facilitate the excavation.

The coughing became insistent, frantic, impossible to be disregarded....

As I was in the act of turning to express my concern Vandy looked up, followed the direction of four starting eyes, and let out a screech of dismay.

"What on earth's the matter?" cried Berry, getting upon his feet. "Been stung, or something?"

With a trembling forefinger Vandy indicated the miscreant.

"Stop him!" he yelled. "Call him off. He'll-he'll spoil the lawn."

"Ruin it," shrilled Emma.

"Where?" said Berry blankly. "What lawn?"

"This lawn!" roared Vandy, stamping his foot.

"But I thought——"

"I don't care what you thought. Call the brute off. It's my land, and I won't have it."

"Nobby," said Berry, "come off the bowling green."

Scrambling to my feet, I countersigned the order in a peremptory tone. Aggrievedly the terrier complied. My brother-in-law turned to Vandy with an injured air.

"I fear," he said stiffly, "that we are unwelcome." Instinctively Emma and May made as though they would protest. In some dignity Berry lifted his hand. "I may be wrong," he said. "I hope so. But from the first I felt that your manner was strained. Subsequent events suggest that my belief was well founded." He turned to Vandy. "May I ask you to let us out? I am reluctant to trouble you, but to scale those gates twice in one morning is rather more than I care about."

Fearful lest our surprise at our reception should become crystallized into an undesirable suspicion, short of pressing us to remain, our cousins did everything to smooth our ruffled plumage.

Vandy threw down the sickle and advanced with an apologetic leer. Emma and May, wreathed in smiles, protested nervously that they had known the work was too much for Vandy, and begged us to think no more of it. As we followed the latter round to the quondam drive, they waved a cordial farewell.

The sight of the four-wheeled dogcart, standing with upturned shafts, a pickaxe, three shovels, a rake, two forks, a number of sacks, and a sieve piled anyhow by its side, was most engaging; but, after bestowing a casual glance upon the paraphernalia, Berry passed by without a word. Vandy went a rich plum colour, hesitated, and then plunged on desperately. Tethered by a halter to a tree, a partially harnessed bay mare suspended the process of mastication to fix us with a suspicious stare. Her also we passed in silence.

After a blasphemous struggle with the gates, whose objection to opening was literally rooted and based upon custom, our host succeeded in forcing them apart sufficiently to permit our egress, and we gave him "Good day."

In silence we strolled down the road.

When we came to the lane, Berry stopped dead.

"Brother," he said, "I perceive it to be my distasteful duty to return. There is an omission which I must repair."

"You're not serious?" said I. "The fellow'll murder you."

"No, he won't," said Berry. "He'll probably burst a blood-vessel, and, with luck, he may even have a stroke. But he won't murder me. You see." And, with that, he turned down the lane towards the door in the wall.

Nobby and I followed.

A moment later we were once more in the garden.

The scene upon which we came was big with promise.

Staggering over the frantic employment of a pickaxe, Vandy was inflicting grievous injury upon the turf about the very spot at which the terrier had been digging. Standing well out of range, his sisters were regarding the exhibition with clasped hands and looks of mingled excitement and apprehension. All three were so much engrossed that, until Berry spoke, they were not aware of our presence.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt you again"—Emma and May screamed, and Vandy endeavoured to check his implement in mid-swing, and only preserved his balance and a whole skin as by a miracle—"but, you know, I quite forgot to ask you about the book. And, as that was really our main object in——"

The roar of a wild beast cut short the speaker.

Bellowing incoherently, trembling with passion, his mouth working, his countenance distorted with rage, Vandy shook his fist at his tormentor in a fit of ungovernable fury.

"Get out of it!" he yelled. "Get out of it! I won't have this intrusion. It's monstrous. I won't stand it. I tell you——"

"Hush, Vandy, hush!" implored his sisters in agonized tones.

Berry raised his eyebrows.

"Really," he said slowly, "anybody would think that you had something to hide."

Then he turned on his heel.

I was about to follow his example, when my cousin's bloodshot eye perceived that Nobby was once more Innocently investigating the scene of his labour. With a choking cry our host sprang forward and raised the pick....

Unaware of his peril, the dog snuffed on.

One of the women screamed....

Desperately I flung myself forward.

The pick was falling as I struck it aside. Viciously it jabbed its way into the earth.

For a long time Vandy and I faced one another, breathing heavily. I watched the blood fading out of the fellow's cheeks. At length—

"Be thankful," said I, "that I was in time. Otherwise——"

I hesitated, and Vandy took a step backwards and put a hand to his throat.

"Exactly," I said.

Then I plucked the pick from the ground, stepped a few paces apart, and, taking the implement with both hands, spun round and threw it from me as if it had been a hammer.

It sailed over some lime trees and crashed out of sight into some foliage.

Then I called the terrier and strode past my brother-in-law in the direction of the postern.

Berry fell in behind and followed me without a word.

* * * * *

"But why," said I, "shouldn't you tell me the day of your birth? I'm not asking the year."

"1895," said Adele.

I sighed.

"Why," she inquired, "do you want to know?"

"So that I can observe the festival as it deserves. Spend the day at Margate, or go to a cinema, or something. I might even wear a false nose. You never know. It's an important date in my calendar."

"How many people have you said that to?"

I laughed bitterly.

"If I told you the truth," I said, "you wouldn't believe me."

There was a museful silence.

It was three days and more since Berry and I had visited The Lawn, and Vandy and Co. were still at work. So much had been reported by an under-gardener. For ourselves, we had finished with our cousins for good and all. The brutal attack upon our favourite was something we could not forget, and for a man whom beastly rage could so much degrade we had no use. Naturally enough, his sisters went with him. Orders were given to the servants that to callers from Broken Ash Daphne was "not at home," and we were one and all determined, so far as was possible, never to see or communicate with Vandy or his sisters again. It was natural, however, that we should be deeply interested in the success or failure of his venture. We prayed fervently, but without much hope, that it might fail.... After all, it was always on the cards that another had stumbled long since upon the treasure, or that a thief had watched its burial and later come privily and unearthed it. We should see.

"I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourself," said Miss Feste. "At your age you ought to have sown all your wild oats."

"So I have," I said stoutly. "And they weren't at all wild, either. I've never seen such a miserable crop. As soon as the sun rose, they all withered away."

"The sun?"

I turned and looked at her. The steady brown eyes held mine with a searching look. I met it faithfully. After a few seconds they turned away.

"The sun?" she repeated quietly.

"The sun, Adele. The sun that rose in America in 1895. Out of the foam of the sea. I can't tell you the date, but it must have been a beautiful day."

There was a pause. Then—

"How interesting!" said Adele. "So it withered them up, did it?"

I nodded.

"You see, Adele, they had no root."

"None of them?"

"None."

Adele looked straight ahead of her into the box-hedge, which rose, stiff and punctilious, ten paces away, the counterpart of that beneath which we were sitting. For once in a way, her merry smile was missing. In its stead Gravity sat in her eyes, hung on the warm red lips. I had known her solemn before, but not like this. The proud face looked very resolute. There was a strength about the lift of the delicate chin, a steadfast fearlessness about the poise of the well-shaped head—unworldly wonders, which I had never seen. Over the glorious temples the soft dark hair swept rich and lustrous. The exquisite column of her neck rose from her flowered silk gown with matchless elegance. Her precious hands, all rosy, lay in her lap. Crossed legs gave me twelve inches of slim silk stocking and a satin slipper, dainty habiliments, not half so dainty as their slender charge....

The stable clock struck the half-hour.

Half-past six. People had been to tea—big-wigs—and we were resting after our labours. It was the perfect evening of a true summer's day.

Nobby appeared in the foreground, strolling unconcernedly over the turf and pausing now and again to snuff the air or follow up an odd clue of scent that led him a foot or so before it died away and came to nothing.

"How," said Adele slowly, "did you come by Nobby?"

Painfully distinct, the wraith of Josephine Childe rose up before me, pale and accusing. Fragments of the letter which had offered me the Sealyham re-wrote themselves upon my brain.... It nearly breaks my heart to say so, but I've got to part with Nobby.... I think you'd get on together ... if you'd like to have him. ... And there was nothing in it. It was a case of smoke without fire. But—I could have spared the question just then....

Desperately I related the truth.

"A girl called Josephine Childe gave him to me. She wanted to find a home for him, as she was going overseas."

"Oh."

The silence that followed this non-committal remark was most discomfiting. I had a feeling that the moments were critical, and—they were slipping away. Should I leap into the tide of explanation? That way, perhaps, lay safety. Always the quicksand of Qui s'excuse, s'accuse, made me draw back. I became extremely nervous.... Feverishly I tried to think of a remark which would be natural and more or less relevant, and would pilot us into a channel of conversation down which we could swim with confidence. Of all the legion of topics, the clemency of the weather alone occurred to me. I could have screamed....

The firebrand itself came to my rescue.

Tired of amusing himself, the terrier retrieved an old ball from beneath the hedge and, trotting across the sward, laid it down at my feet.

Gratefully I picked it up and flung it for him to fetch.

It fell into a thick welter of ivy which Time had built into a bulging buttress of greenery against the old grey wall at the end of the walk.

The dog sped after it, his short legs flying....

The spell was broken, and I felt better.

"You mustn't think he's a root, though," I said cheerfully, "because he isn't. When did you say your birthday was?"

"I didn't," said Adele. "Still, if you must know, I was born on August the thirtieth."

"To-day! Oh, Adele. And I've nothing for you Except...." I hesitated, and my heart began to beat very fast. "But I'd be ashamed—I mean...." My voice petered out helplessly. I braced myself for a supreme effort....

An impatient yelp rang out.

"What's the matter with Nobby?" said Adele in a voice I hardly recognized.

"Fed up, 'cause I've lost his ball for him," said I, and, cowardly glad of a respite, I rose and stepped to the aged riot of ivy, where the terrier was searching for his toy.

I pulled a hole in the arras and peered through.

There was more space than I had expected. The grey wall bellied away from me.

"What's that?" said Adele, looking over my shoulder.

"What?" said I.

"There. To the right."

It was dark under the ivy, so I thrust in a groping arm.

Almost at once my hand encountered the smooth edge of masonry.

I took out a knife and ripped away some trails, so that we could see better.

There was nothing to show that the pedestal which my efforts revealed had ever supported a statue. But it was plain that such was the office for which it had been set up. Presumably it was one of the series which, according to Vandy's book, had displayed imaginative effigies of the Roman Emperors, and had been done away in 1710. The inscription upon the cornice upheld this conclusion.

PERTINAX IMPERATOR.

I looked at Adele.

"PER ... IMP ..." said I. "Does the cap fit?"

"Yes," she said simply. "That's right. I remember it perfectly. The other seemed likely, but I was never quite sure." Trembling a little, she turned and looked round. "And you came out of that break in the hedge with the tomato, and——Oh!"

She stopped, and the colour came flooding into her cheeks....

Then, in a flash, she turned and sped down the alley like a wild thing. As in a dream, I watched the tall slim figure dart out of sight....

A second impatient yelp reminded me that Nobby was still waiting.

* * * * *

The firm of silversmiths whom we employed to clean the collection, after it had been disinterred, valued it for purposes of insurance at twenty-two thousand pounds.

We saw no reason to communicate with Vandy. The exercise was probably doing him good, and he had shown a marked antipathy to interruption. A tent had been pitched at The Lawn, and the work of excavation went steadily on. Not until the twenty-eighth of September did it suddenly cease.

Three days later we had occasion to drive into Brooch. We returned by way of The Lawn. As we approached the entrance, I slowed up....

From the tall gates a brand-new board flaunted its black and white paint.

But the legend it bore was the same.

Mr. Miller was evidently a Conservative.



CHAPTER XI

HOW NOBBY MET BLUE BANDALA, AND ADELE GAVE JONAH A KISS.

"Listen to this," said Berry.

"SIR,—Shortly before six o'clock this evening an extremely valuable Chow, by name Blue Bandala, which I purchased last March for no less a sum than six hundred pounds, was brutally attacked in Bilberry village by a rough-haired mongrel, which was accompanying two girls. I am given to understand that this animal belongs to you. I was at first determined to issue a summons, but I have now decided to give you a chance before doing so. If it amuses you to keep such a cur about your house, there is nothing to prevent you from so doing. But you must understand that once it leaves your property it must be under proper and effective control, and if it ever attacks a dog of mine again, I shall either destroy it upon the spot or apply to the Bench for its destruction. I may say that Blue Bandala is not only very well bred, but a very quiet and friendly dog, and was in no way to blame for what occurred.

HERBERT BASON.

B. PLEYDELL, White Ladies."

The explosion which the reading of this letter provoked is indescribable.

"It's a lie!" cried Jill in a choking voice. "It's a beastly lie. His dog started it. Nobby would never have touched him. He wasn't paying any attention. The Chow came up from behind and just fell upon him. And how dare he say he's a mongrel? It's just one lie after another, isn't it, Adele?"

"It's outrageous," said Miss Feste. "Directly I saw the other dog I thought he meant mischief, but before I could tell Jill, he'd started in. Nobby didn't even know he was there."

The door opened, and dinner was announced.

"Falcon," said Berry.

"Sir," said the butler.

"Who brought this note?"

"It was a chauffeur, sir. I don't know 'im by sight, sir."

We filed out of the library, smouldering with resentment.

"But what an awful man he must be," said Daphne. "Even if our dog had been in the wrong, that's no reason for writing a letter like that."

"It's unpardonable," said I. "It's quite bad enough to have him living in the neighbourhood, but if this is the way he's going to behave...." I turned to Adele. "Was his manner very bad at the time?"

"He seemed more rattled than anything else. He was clearly afraid to interfere. Jill and I got them apart, as I told you. He got very red in the face, but beyond muttering with his teeth clenched, he never said a word."

"Must have gone straight home and got it off his chest," said Jonah. "I expect he's awfully proud of that letter, if the truth were known."

"Well, don't let's dwell on it," said Berry, regarding the oysters which had been set before him. "After dinner will do. You hardly ever go down with typhoid within six hours." He turned to Adele. "Bet you I've got more strepsicocci than you have," he added pleasantly.

"Shut up," said Daphne. "Adele dear, d'you like oysters? Because, don't you eat them if you don't."

"No, don't," said Berry. "If you don't, whatever you do, don't. And whatever you don't, I will."

Adele looked at him with a mischievous smile.

"I couldn't bear," she said, "to have your blood on my head."

Then she glanced gratefully at Daphne and picked up a fork.

Mr. Herbert Bason had arisen out of the cloud of War. The time had produced the man. The storm had burst just in the nick of time to save the drooping theatrical interests which he controlled, and the fruit which these had borne steadily for the best part of five long years had been truly phenomenal. A patriot to the backbone, the bewildered proprietor obtained absolute exemption from the Tribunal, turned the first six rows of all his pits into stalls, and bought War Loan with both hands. It was after the second air-raid upon London that he decided to take a house in the country.... Less than a year ago he had disposed of his music-halls and had settled near Bilberry for good.

"By the way," said Daphne, "did I tell you? The laundry's struck."

"Thank you," said her husband, "for that phrase."

"Don't mention it," said my sister. "But I thought you'd like to know. Heaven knows when they'll go back, so I should go easy with your stiff collars and shirts."

"What, have the saws stopped working?" said Berry. "I can't bear it."

"What about my trousers?" said I. "I've only one clean pair left."

Daphne shrugged her white shoulders.

"What about my tablecloths?" she replied.

Berry addressed himself to Adele.

"We live in pleasant times, do not we? Almost a golden age. I wonder what the trouble is now. Probably some absent-minded blanchisseuse has gone and ironed twenty socks in ten minutes instead of ten socks in twenty minutes, without thinking. And the management refuse to sack her for this grievous lapse into the slough of pre-War Industry, out of which a provident Trade Union has blackmailed her to climb."

"I've no doubt you're right," said I. "The question is, where are we going to end? It's the same everywhere. And the mere thought of Income Tax sends my temperature up."

"Ah," said Berry. "I had a quiet hour with the Book of the Words, issued by that Fun Palace, Somerset House, this afternoon. Income Tax, and How to Pay it. Commonly styled, with unconscious humour, The Income Tax Return. By the time I was through I had made out that, if I render a statement according to the printed instructions, my tax will exceed my income by one hundred and forty-four pounds. If, on the other hand, I make an incorrect return, I shall be fined fifty pounds and treble the tax payable. You really don't get a look in."

"If you say much more," groaned Jonah, "you'll spoil my appetite. When I reflect that in 1913 and a burst of piety I sent the Chancellor of the Exchequer a postal order for eight and sixpence by way of Conscience Money, I feel positively sick."

"Not piety," corrected my brother-in-law. "Drink. I remember you had some very bad goes about then."

"What a terrible memory you have!" said Adele. "I feel quite uneasy."

"Fear not, sweet one," was the reply. "Before I retail your indiscretions I shall send you a list of them, with the price of omission clearly marked against each in red ink. The writing will be all blurred with my tears." Here Adele declined a second vegetable. "There, now. I've gone and frightened you. And marrow's wonderful for the spine. Affords instant relief. And you needn't eat the seeds. Spit them over your left shoulder. That'll bring you luck."

There was an outraged clamour of feminine protest.

"I won't have it," said Daphne. "Disgusting brute!"

"And that," said Jonah, "is the sodden mountebank who dares to cast a stone into the limpid pool of my character. That is the overfed sluggard——"

"Take this down, somebody," said Berry. "The words'll scorch up the paper, but never mind. Record the blasphemy. Capital 'M' for 'mountebank.' 'Sluggard' with an 'H.' And I'm not overfed."

"You're getting fatter every day," said Jill, gurgling.

"That's right," said my brother-in-law. "Bay the old lion. And bring down these grey hairs in——"

"Talking of mountebanks," said I, "who's going to Fallow Hill Fair?"

"Adele ought to see it," said Daphne. "Why don't you run her over in the car?"

"I will, if she'd like to go. It's a real bit of old England."

"I agree," said Berry. "What with the cocoa-nut shies and the steam roundabouts, you'd think you were back in the Middle Ages. I think I'll come, too."

"Then you go alone," said I. "I don't forget the last time you went."

"What happened?" said Adele, her eyes lighted with expectation.

Berry sighed.

"It was most unfortunate," he said. "You see, it was like this. B-behind a b-barrier there was a b-booth with a lot of b-bottles, at which you were b-bothered to throw b-balls. If you b-broke three b-bottles——"

"This nervous alliteration," interposed Adele, "is more than I can b-bear."

"—you received a guerdon which you were encouraged to select from a revolting collection of bric-a-brac which was displayed in all its glory upon an adjacent stall. Laden with munitions, I advanced to the rails.... Unhappily, in the excitement of the moment, I mistook my objective.... It was a most natural error. Both were arranged in tiers, both were pleading for destruction."

"Nonsense," said Daphne. "You did it on purpose. You know you did. I never saw anything more deliberate in all my life."

"Not at all," replied her husband. "I was confused. A large and critical crowd had collected to watch my prowess, and I was pardonably nervous."

"But what happened?" said Adele.

"Well," said I, "naturally nobody was expecting such a move, with the result that the brute got off about six balls before they could stop him. The execution among the prizes was too awful. You see, they were only about six feet away. The owner excepted, the assembled populace thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen."

"Yes," chimed in Jill. "And then he turned round and asked the man how many bottles he'd won."

"I never was so ashamed," said Daphne. "Of course the poor man was nearly off his head."

"And I paid for the damage," said Jonah.

I looked across at Adele.

"So, if he comes with us," I said, "you know what to expect."

My lady threw back her head and laughed.

"I suppose you're to be trusted," she said.

"Once past the pub," said Berry, "he'll be all right. But if he says he feels faint outside the saloon-bar, don't argue with him, but come straight home."

"At any rate," said Adele, "I shall have Nobby."

The reference brought us back to Mr. Bason with a rush.

In spite of our resolution to eschew the subject, that gentleman's letter was heatedly discussed for the remainder of dinner.

To-day was the third of September, and on the eleventh a dog-show was to be held at Brooch. I had not entered Nobby, because I felt that his exhibition would probably cause us more trouble than the proceeding was worth. It now occurred to us that Mr. Bason would almost certainly enter—had probably long ago entered his precious Chow. Any local triumph, however petty and easy for a man of means to procure, would be sure to appeal to one of his calibre, and the chance, which the show would afford, of encountering, if not accosting, one or two County people would be greatly to his relish. Supposing we did enter Nobby....

The idea of beating Mr. Bason in the race for first prize with the "rough-haired mongrel" which "it amused us to keep about our house" was most appealing.

As soon as dinner was over, Berry rang up the Secretary.

Our surmise was correct. Blue Bandala was entered.

"Well, am I too late to enter a Sealyham?"

"Not if you do it to-morrow," came the reply.

"You shall have the particulars before mid-day."

"Right-oh."

Berry replaced the receiver.

"Little Herbert will take the first prize for Chows," he said. "That can't be helped. But he's entered his dog for the 'All Comers,' and that's our chance. If we can't lift that goblet from under his ugly nose, I'll never smile again."

"What exactly's 'All Comers'?" said Jill.

"The best all-round specimen of any breed. Manners, carriage—everything's taken into consideration."

"If personality counts," said Jonah, "Nobby'll romp home."

I regarded our unconscious representative with an appraising eye. Supine upon the sofa, with his head out of sight behind Adele, there was little to recommend him as a model of deportment. With a sigh I resumed the composition of a reply to Mr. Bason's remarkable letter.

When I had finished the draft, I gave it to Berry. The latter read it through, nodding solemn approval. Then he repaired to the writing-table and copied my sentences, word for word, on to a sheet of notepaper.

As he laid down his pen, he rose to his feet.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "If the blighter replies, and Nobby comes off at the show, we'll send this correspondence to the local Press."

"Let's have it," said Jonah.

Berry handed me the letter, and I read it aloud.

SIR,

I have received your note.

As an alloy of misrepresentation of fact, arrogant bluster and idle menaces, I doubt whether it has ever been equalled upon this side of the Rhine.

Indeed, its legibility would appear to be its only merit.

Not that I care for your style of handwriting, but in these degenerate days it is, you will agree, a relief to receive a letter which can be easily read.

You did go a bust on Blue Banana, didn't you?

Pray act upon your first impulse and apply for a summons. The Bench will not grant your application, but—again you will agree—it is the effort, and not the result, which counts.

It is nice of you to inquire after my Sealyham. He is none the worse, thanks, and I fancy he made old Blue Banana sit up.

Yours faithfully,

BERRY PLEYDELL.

H. BASON, Esq.

P.S.—You must forgive me for addressing you as "Esquire," but it is difficult to break a foolish habit of courtesy which I formed as a child. B. P.

"Fifteen thirty," cried Adele, making ready to serve. "Hullo!" She pointed with her racket over my shoulder. "Nobby's gone lame."

I swung on my heel to see the terrier limping apologetically towards me, and going dead lame upon the near fore.

As he came up, I dropped my racket and fell upon one knee, the better to search for the cause of the trouble. Carefully I handled the affected limb....

My fingers came to his toes, and the Sealyham winced. With a sigh of relief, I laid him upon his back.

"Got it?" said Adele.

I looked up into the beautiful face three inches from mine.

"I fancy so." I bent to peer at the small firm foot. "Yes. Here we are. He's picked up a puncture."

The next moment I plucked a substantial thorn from between two strong black toes. A warm red tongue touched my restraining fingers in obvious gratitude.

"Will he be all right?"—anxiously.

"He shall speak for himself," said I, releasing my patient.

With a galvanic squirm the latter regained his feet, spun into the air, gyrated till I felt dizzy, and then streaked round the tennis-lawn, his hind feet comically overreaching his fore, steering a zigzag course with such inconsequence as suggested that My Lord of Misrule himself was directing him by wireless.

It was not worth while finishing our interrupted game, so we strolled back to the house. At the top of the stairs we parted, to go and change. Directly after lunch we were to leave for the fair.

Six days had elapsed since Nobby's scuffle with the apple of Mr. Bason's eye. Life had slipped by uneventfully. The Sealyham had been put upon a strict diet and was thoroughly groomed three times a day: my store of clean starched linen had dwindled to one shirt and two collars, which, distrusting my brother-in-law, I kept under lock and key: and Mr. Bason had been stung by our letter into sending a reply which afforded us the maximum of gratification. It ran as follows—

SIR,

Your insulting letter to hand.

I stand by every word of my previous letter.

The sooner, therefore, that you realize that I am not to be trifled with, the better for all concerned.

You are evidently one of those people who believe that impudent bluff will carry them anywhere, and that, with your birth and upbringing behind you, you can do as you please. But you are wrong. Among men who are men, as distinct from pedantic popinjays, you go for nothing. Pshaw.

_HERBERT BASON.

B. PLEYDELL, Esq._

P.S.—Be good enough to note that my dog's name is "Blue Bandala," not "Blue Banana."

H. B.

Our reply was dispatched within twenty-four hours.

SIR,

Many thanks for your masterly appreciation of my character.

We all think "pedantic popinjays" simply splendid. Is it your own?

Don't tell old Banana Skin, but I've had the nerve to enter my Sealyham for the "All Comers" event at Brooch.

So glad you're not to be trifled with. Selah.

Yours faithfully,

_BERRY PLEYDELL.

H. BASON, Esq._

In two days' time we should meet at Philippi.

It must be confessed that there were moments when we remembered our precipitancy in some uneasiness. Nobby was well bred, but he had not cost six hundred pounds. Always he looked his best, and his best was extremely good. His many excellent points were set off by a most attractive air and a singular charm and sprightliness of manner. Every movement and pose was full of grace, and he had the brightest eyes that I have ever seen. But Blue Bandala was clearly a "show" animal. Could our little David beat this very Goliath among dogs, and that upon the latter's own ground? Could our little amateur take on a plus-four professional and beat him at his own game? There was no manner of doubt that angels would at least have walked delicately where we had rushed in. However, it was too late now. Even if we would, we could not draw back. Beyond doing what we could to keep him as fit as a fiddle, there was nothing to be done.

After a bath I put on a tweed suit, concealed my discarded and sole surviving pair of white trousers from the rapacious eye of a random housemaid, and descended to lunch.

An hour later Adele and Nobby and I were all in the Rolls, sailing along the soft brown roads en route for Fallow Hill.

It was a day of great loveliness, and the forest ways were one and all beset with a rare glory.

Thirty-six hours before, the first frost of autumn had touched the breast of Earth with silver finger-tips. 'Twas but a runaway knock. The mischief-loving knave was gone again, before the bustling dame had braced herself to open to her pert visitor. Maybe the rogue was beating up his quarters. The time of his dreaded lodgment was not yet. His apprehensive hostess was full of smiles. Summer was staying on....

Yet on the livery of the countryside the accolade of Frost had wrought a wonder. Two days ago the world was green. To-day a million leaves glanced, green as before, yet with a new-found lustre—something of red in it, something of gold, something of sober brown. But the wonder was not to the trees. It was the humble bracken that had been dubbed knight. The homespun of the forest was become cloth of pure gold, glittering, flawless. In the twinkling of an eye the change had come. Here was an acre spread with the delicate fronds, and there a ragged mile, and yonder but shreds and patches—yet all of magic gold, flinging the sunlight back, lighting the shadows, making the humblest ride too rich for kings to trample till the green roofs and walls looked dull beside it, and the ephemeral magnificence took Memory by the throat and wrung a lease of life from that Reversioner.

"Tell me," I said, "of Mr. Bason. He interests me, and I've never seen him."

"Mr. Bason," said Adele, "is short and fat and—yes, I'm afraid he's greasy. He has bright yellow hair and a ridiculous moustache, which is brushed up on end on each side of his nostrils. He has very watery pale blue eyes, and all the blood in his face seems to have gone to his nose."

"Muscular rheumatism," I suggested.

"I guess so. Of course, he knows best, and I don't pretend to say what men should wear, but white flannel suits aren't becoming to every figure, are they? Most of the rest of him was mauve—shirt, socks and handkerchief. Oh, and he had a tie on his pin."

"But how lovely!"

"Yes, but you should have smelt the lilac. He was just perfumed to death. If he isn't careful, one of these days he'll get picked."

"One of the old school, in fact. Well, well...." We swept round a corner, and I nodded ahead. "See that ridge in front of us? Well, that's Fallow Hill. The village lies close, just on the other side."

"What are you going to do with the car?" said Adele.

"They'll let me lock her up—don't be shocked—at the brewery. I know them there."

"You'll admit it sounds bad."

"Yes, but it smells lovely. You wait. For that reason alone, I should vote against Prohibition. The honest scent of brewing, stealing across the meadows on a summer eve, is one of the most inspiring things I know."

"But what a man!" said Adele. "'Books in the running brooks, Virtue in vats, and good in everything.' Nobby," she added reproachfully, "why didn't you tell me he was a poet?" The Sealyham put his head on one side, as if desiring her to repeat the question. "Oh, you cute thing!" And, with that, my lady bent and kissed the terrier between the bright brown eyes.

I put the wheel over hard, and the car swerved violently.

"For Heaven's sake!" cried Miss Feste. "What are you doing?"

"It's your fault," said I. "I'm only human. Besides, he doesn't deserve it."

Adele flung me a dazzling smile, made as though she would say something, and then, apparently changing her mind, relapsed into a provoking silence....

A quarter of an hour later the Rolls had been safely bestowed at the brewery, and my companion and I were making our way amusedly past booths and tents and caravans, where chapmen, hucksters, drovers, cheapjacks, gipsies and bawling showmen wrangled and chaffered and cried their wares or entertainments, making with the crude music of the merry-go-rounds much the same good-humoured uproar which had been faithfully rendered at the village of Fallow Hill every September for the last five hundred years.

"Blessings on your sweet pretty face, my lady!" cried an old voice.

We turned to see a very old gipsy, seated a little apart upon a backless chair, nodding and smiling in our direction.

Adele inclined her head, and I slid a hand into my pocket.

"Come hither to me, my lady," piped the old dame, "and let your man cross my old palm with silver, and I'll tell you your fortune. Ah, but you have a happy face."

Adele looked at me, and I nodded.

"They're a good folk," I said, "and you'll get better stuff for your money than you would in Bond Street. But don't, if you don't want to."

My words could not have been heard by the gipsy. Yet, before Adele could reply—

"Aye," she said, "the pretty gentleman's right. We're a good folk, and there be some among us can see farther than the dwellers in towns." Adele started, and the crone laughed. "Come hither, my lady, and let me look in your eyes."

She was an old, old woman, but the snow-white hair that thrust from beneath her kerchief was not thin: her face was shrunken and wrinkled, yet apple-cheeked: and her great sloe-black eyes glowed with a strange brilliance, as if there were fires kindled deep in the wasted sockets.

Adele stepped forward, when, to my amazement, the gipsy put up her hands and groped for the girl's shoulders. The significance of the gesture was plain. She was stone blind.

For a while she mumbled, and, since I had not gone close, I did not hear what she said. But Adele was smiling, and I saw the colour come flooding into her cheeks....

Then the old dame lifted up her voice and called to me to come also.

I went to her side.

An old gnarled hand fumbled its way on to my arm.

"Aye," she piped. "Aye. Tis as I thought. Your man also must lose ere he find. Together ye shall lose, and together gain. And ye shall comfort one another."

The tremulous voice ceased, and the hands slipped away.

I gave her money and Adele thanked her prettily.

She cried a blessing upon us, I whistled to Nobby, and we strolled on....

"Look at that baby," said Adele. "Isn't he cute?"

"Half a second," said I, turning and whistling. "Which baby?"

"There," said Adele, pointing. "With the golden hair."

A half-naked sun-kissed child regarded us with a shy smile. It was impossible not to respond....

Again I turned and whistled.

"Where can he be?" said Adele anxiously.

"Oh, he always turns up," I said. "But, if you don't mind going back a little way, it'll save time. With all this noise..."

We went back a little way. Then we went back a long way. Then we asked people if they had seen a little white dog with a black patch. Always the answer was in the negative. One man laughed and said something about "a dog in a fair," and Fear began to knock at my heart. I whistled until the muscles of my lips ached. Adele wanted us to search separately, but I refused. It was not a place for her to wander alone. Feverishly we sought everywhere. Twice a white dog sent our hopes soaring, only to prove a stranger and dash them lower than before. Round and about and in and out among the booths and swings and merry-go-rounds we hastened, whistling, calling and inquiring in vain. Nobby was lost.

* * * * *

We had intended to be home in time for tea.

As it was, we got back to White Ladies, pale and dejected, at a quarter to eight.

As she rose to get out of the car, Adele gave a cry and felt frantically about her neck and throat.

"What's the matter?" I cried.

"My pearls," she said simply. "They're not here."

For what it was worth, I called for lights, and we took the cushions out and looked in the car.

But there was no sign of the necklace. It was clean gone.

* * * * *

The lamentations with which the news of our misfortunes was received were loud and exceeding bitter.

Jill burst into tears; Daphne tried vainly to comfort her, and then followed her example; Berry and Jonah vied with each other in gloomy cross-examination of Adele and myself concerning our movements since we had left White Ladies, and in cheerless speculation with regard to the probable whereabouts of our respective treasures.

After a hurried meal the Rolls was again requisitioned, and all six of us proceeded to Fallow Hill. Not until eleven o'clock would the fun of the fair be suspended, and it was better to be on the spot, even if for the second time we had to come empty away, than to spend the evening in the torment of inactivity.

Of the loss of the Sealyham we could speak more definitely than of that of the necklace. Nobby had been by my side when the gipsy hailed us, so that there was no doubt but that he was lost at the fair. Regarding her pearls, Adele could speak less positively. In fact, to say that she had had the necklace before breakfast that morning was really as far as she could go. "I know I had it then," she affirmed, "because I always take it off before taking my bath, and I remember putting it on afterwards. As luck will have it, I was rather late this morning, and I couldn't fasten the safety-chain, so after two or three shots I gave up trying, intending to do it later on. And this is the result." She had not bathed again.

It was a sweet pretty gaud. So perfectly matched were its hundred and two pearls that many would have believed it unreal. It had belonged to her great-grandmother, and was not insured.

Arrived at Fallow Hill, we went straight to the police. The loss of the jewels we communicated to them alone. Somewhat shamefacedly and plainly against Adele's will, I described the old gipsy and commended her to their vigilance. When they learned that she had laid hands upon Adele, the two inspectors exchanged glances which there was no mistaking....

So far as Nobby was concerned, as well as informing the police, we enlisted the sympathy of the Boy Scouts. Also we engaged six rustics to perambulate the fair and cry the loss of the Sealyham for all to hear. Information leading to his recovery would be rewarded with the sum of five pounds, while the crier to whom the communication was made would receive five more for himself. Our six employees went about their work with a will, bellowing lustily. Daphne and Jonah sat in the car, rejecting the luckless mongrels which were excitedly paraded before them, one after another, from the moment that our loss was made known. The rest of us hunted in couples—Adele with Berry, and Jill with me—scouring the maze of temporary alleys and lanes and crooked quadrangles, till we knew them by heart.

The merry-go-rounds had stopped whirling, and the booths were being shrouded or dismantled, as Jill and I made our way to the car for the last time.

As we came up—

"That you, Boy?" cried Daphne. "Here's a waggoner who thinks he saw Nobby being taken away."

A little knot of men parted, and Jill and I thrust our way forward.

"Oi wouldden be sure," said a deep rough voice, "but a was a lil white chap of a dog on en' of a string. 'Twas a grume, simly, a-leadin' 'im Brooch way. An' a didn't want for to go, neither, for a stock toes in, a did, an' collar was 'alf-way over 'ead. Just come forth from The Three Bulls, Oi 'ad, oop yonder o' Bear Lane, an' the toime were nigh three o' the aafternoon."

We questioned him closely, but he could tell us no more.

Slight as the clue was, it was infinitely better than none at all. If it was indeed Nobby that the waggoner had seen, the thief was taking him out of the village, at least in the direction of White Ladies. This was encouraging. That any one making for the railway station would take the same road was a less pleasant reflection.

I took our informant's name and address and those of the crier who had brought him to the car. Then we dispensed some silver, and left for home.

Of Adele's necklace we had heard nothing.

We determined to concentrate upon the recovery of the pearls upon the following day.

* * * * *

All through a wretched night the pitiful vacancy at the foot of my bed reminded me brutally of my loss. My poor little dog—where was he passing these dark hours? How many more must drag their way along before the warm white ball lay curled again in the crook of my knees? Had he rested there for the last time? With a groan I thrust the thought from me, but always it returned, leering hideously. Miserably I recited his qualities—his love for me, his mettle, his beauty, his unfailing good humour.... What naughtiness there was in him seemed very precious. Painfully I remembered his thousand pretty ways. He had a trick of waving his little paws, when he was tired of begging....

Small wonder that I slept ill and fitfully.

Early as I was, the others were already at breakfast when I came down. Only Adele had not appeared.

It was a melancholy meal.

Jonah said not a word, and Berry hardly opened his mouth. There were dark rings under Jill's grey eyes, and Daphne looked pale and tired.

A communication from the Secretary of the Brooch Dog Show, enclosing a pass for the following day, and informing me that my Sealyham must arrive at the Show in the charge of not more than one attendant by 11 a.m., did not tend to revive our drooping spirits. We had nearly finished, when, with a glance at the clock, my sister set her foot upon the bell.

As the butler entered the room—

"Send up and see if Miss Feste will breakfast upstairs, Falcon. I think——"

"Miss Feste has breakfasted, madam."

"Already?"

"Yes, madam. Her breakfast was taken to her before eight o'clock."

"Where is she?"

"I think she's out bicycling, madam."

"Bicycling?"

The inquiry leapt from five mouths simultaneously.

"Yes, madam. She sent for me and asked if I could find 'er a lady's bicycle, an' Greenaway was very 'appy to lend 'er 'ers, madam. An' Fitch pumped up the tires, an' she went off about 'alf-past eight, madam."

We stared at one another in bewilderment.

"Did she say where she was going?" said Berry.

"No, sir."

"All right, Falcon."

The butler bowed and withdrew.

Amid the chorus of astonished exclamation, Berry held up his hand.

"It's very simple," he said. "She's unhinged."

"Rubbish," said his wife.

"The disappearance of Nobby, followed by the loss of her necklace, has preyed upon her mind. Regardless alike of my feelings and of the canons of good taste, she rises at an hour which is almost blasphemous and goes forth unreasonably to indulge in the most hellish form of exercise ever invented. What further evidence do we need? By this time she has probably detached the lamp from the velocipede and is walking about, saying she's Florence Nightingale."

"Idiot," said Daphne.

"Not yet," said her husband, "but I can feel it coming on." He cast an eye downward and shivered. "I feared as much. My left leg is all unbuttoned."

"For goodness' sake," said his wife, "don't sit there drivelling——"

"Sorry," said Berry, "but I haven't got a clean bib left. This laundry strike——"

"I said 'drivelling,' not 'dribbling.' You know I did. And what are we wasting time for? Let's do something—anything."

"Right-oh," said her husband. "What about giving the bread some birds?" And with that he picked up a loaf and deliberately pitched it out of the window on to the terrace.

The fact that the casement was not open until after the cast, made his behaviour the more outrageous.

The very wantonness of the act, however, had the excellent effect of breaking the spell of melancholy under which we were labouring.

In a moment all was confusion.

Jill burst into shrieks of laughter; Jonah, who had been immersed in The Times, cursed his cousin for the shock to his nerves; in a shaking voice Daphne assured the butler, whom the crash had brought running, that it was "All right, Falcon; Major Pleydell thought the window was open"; and the delinquent himself was loudly clamouring to be told whether he had won the slop-pail outright or had only got to keep it clean for one year.

Twenty minutes later Jonah had left for Brooch to see the Chief Constable about the missing jewels and arrange for the printing and distribution of an advertisement for Nobby. The rest of us, doing our utmost to garnish a forlorn hope with the seasoning of expectation, made diligent search for the necklace about the terrace, gardens and tennis-lawn. After a fruitless two hours we repaired to the house, where we probed the depths of sofas and chairs, emptied umbrella-stands, settles, flower-bowls and every other receptacle over which our guest might have leaned, and finally thrust an electric torch into the bowels of the piano and subjected that instrument to a thorough examination.

At length—

"I give it up," said Daphne, sinking into a chair. "I don't think it can be here."

"Nor I," said I. "I think we've looked everywhere."

"Yes," said Berry. "There's only the cesspool left. We can drag that before lunch, if you like, but I should prefer one more full meal before I die."

"Boy! Boy!"

Somewhere from behind closed doors a sweet excited voice was calling.

I sprang to the door.

"Yes, Adele, yes?" I shouted.

A moment later my lady sped down a passage and into the hall.

"Get the car quick. I've found Nobby."

"Where?" we yelled.

"That man Bason's got him."

Her announcement momentarily deprived us of breath. Then we all started, and in the next two minutes sufficient was said about the retired music-hall proprietor to make that gentleman's pendulous ears burst into blue flame.

Again want of breath intervened, and Adele besought us to make ready the car.

We explained vociferously that Jonah had taken the Rolls and would be back any minute. Whilst we were waiting, would she not tell us her tale?

Seating herself upon the arm of a chair, she complied forthwith.

"None of you seemed to suspect him, and, as I'm usually wrong, I decided to say nothing. But last night I asked a Boy Scout where he lived. Curiously enough, the boy had a brother who was a gardener in Bason's employ. That made me think. I asked him whether I could have a word with his brother, and he told me he lived at a cottage close to his work, and was almost always at home between nine and half-past in the morning.

"When he came home this morning, I was waiting for him. He seemed a nice man, so I told him the truth and asked him to help me. Thorn—that's his name—doesn't like Bason a bit, and at once agreed that he was quite capable of the dirtiest work, if any one got in his way. He hadn't, he said, seen Nobby, but that wasn't surprising. If the dog was there he'd probably be in the stables, and with those Thorn has nothing to do.

"Bason doesn't keep horses, but he uses one of the coach-houses as a garage. The chauffeur seems to be rather worse than his master. He's loathed by the rest of the staff, and, while he and Bason are as thick as thieves, neither trusts the other an inch.

"The first thing to do, obviously, was to find out if Nobby was there. Everything was always kept locked, so I determined to try the 'Blondel' stunt—yes, I know a lot of English History—and try and make Coeur de Lion speak for himself.

"First we synchronized our watches. Then Thorn showed me the house and told me exactly where the garage and stables were—close to the gates, happily. Then we arranged that in ten minutes' time he should try to get the chauffeur out of the way, while I took a look round. More than that we couldn't fix, but it was understood that, if there was a dog there and Thorn got an opening, he was to undo his collar and give him a chance to make good on his own. That wouldn't involve Thorn, for he could fasten the collar again and make it look as if Nobby had slipped it."

"But what a brain!" said Berry. "One short month of my society, and the girl——"

An avalanche of protest cut short the speaker.

Adele continued, gurgling.

"At first everything went all right. At twenty minutes to ten I put my head round the corner to see the chauffeur and Thorn disappearing at the other end of the yard. I stepped out of my cover and had a look round. There were stables on one side, and a coachhouse and garage on the other, and the yard, which was open at both ends, lay in between. I was just going to try the loose-boxes—I was going to 'miaow' like a cat and see what answer I got—when I heard Bason's voice calling Banana....

"There was only one door open, and that was the garage. I dashed for it and looked round for somewhere to hide. The place was as bare as your hand. But there was nothing the matter with the limousine, so I got inside and sat down on the floor.

"I was only just in time.

"Bason came stamping into the yard, shouting for 'Arthur,' and the next moment Nobby gave tongue.

"I just had to look.

"There was Blue Banana with his nose to the door of the loose-box immediately opposite, snarling and showing his teeth, Bason was hammering on the door, yelling 'Shut up, you brute!' and Nobby, of course, was barking to beat the band."

As she spoke, a faint familiar cough from the drive announced the return of Jonah from Brooch.

In less time than it takes to record, I had flown to the front-door and put him wise. Two minutes later we were all in the Rolls, which was scudding at an unlawful speed along the Fallow Hill road.

"There's nothing much more to tell," said Adele, as we clamoured for her to proceed. "I thought Bason would never go, and, when at last he did, the chauffeur took the opportunity of changing the two front tires.

"For over two hours I sat in that car. At last the man shut the place up and, I suppose, went to his dinner.

"I had meant to borrow the limousine, but he'd taken the key of the switch, so I couldn't do that. And I couldn't get at Nobby, for the stable was locked. So I just pelted back to Thorn's cottage, told his wife to tell him my news, picked up the bicycle and came right back."

For a moment no one said anything. Then—

"I shall recommend you," said Berry, "for the Most Excellent Order of the Beer Engine. A very coveted distinction. The membership is limited to seven million."

"Yes," said I, "for a most daring reconnaissance behind the enemy's lines. You know, this ranks with the penetration of the Kiel Canal. Seriously, Adele, I'm terribly grateful."

My lady looked at me with a shy smile.

"What did the gipsy say?" she said. "After all I'm only obeying orders. And now——"

A cry from Jonah interrupted her, and the rest of us started inquiringly as he clapped on the brakes.

As the car came to a standstill—

"What's the matter?" I cried.

By way of answer my cousin took off his hat and, producing a silk handkerchief, deliberately wiped his forehead with the utmost care. Then he replaced his hat and looked up and over his right shoulder....

From the top of a mossy bank by the side of the road Nobby was regarding us wide-eyed. Apparently he had broken prison and was on his way home. Time was nothing to him, and the roots of a wayside beech upon an attractive rise cried aloud for inspection. Besides, there was a serious loss of liberty which had to be made good....

For a moment rescue-party and prize looked one another in the face. Then the latter hurled himself panting into the road and leapt into the arms which I stretched out of the car.

No prodigal ever received such an ovation. There was literally a fight for his person. Jill snatched him from me and pressed his nose to her face; Berry dragged him from her protesting arms and set him upon his knee; Daphne tore him away and hugged him close. Such of us as were temporarily disseized, stroked and fondled his limbs and cried endearing epithets. Only our fair American looked on with a wistful smile.

"So, you see," she said, "he's done without me, after all.'"

I took hold of her hand.

"My dear," I said, "your argument would be more forcible if he was wearing a collar."

There was a buzz of excitement as my statement was feverishly confirmed.

"I agree," said Berry. "What's more, he's brought us a souvenir."

As he spoke, he plucked something which was adhering to the terrier's beard.

It was a tuft of slate-grey hair.

* * * * *

The "All Comers" Event was won by Nobby, who beat a French bulldog by a short head.

Neither Blue Bandala nor his owner put in an appearance. For this a particularly curt note, bluntly requiring the return of the Sealyham's collar, may have been responsible.

The waggoner and the lad who found him received their rewards.

So also did Thorn. His letter of acknowledgment was addressed to Adele.

DEAR MADAM,

Thank you kindly for the 5 lbs. I got to the dog by way of the ayloft which were in one of the stalls I undone is coller and here he run out the first dore as was open and appening on Blew Bandarlerer did not harf put it acrost him and Mr. Bason says I command you to seperate them dogs Arthur he says and Arthur fetches Blew B. one what he ment for your dog and Mr. Bason fetches him another what he ment for Arthur so the chough cort it proper.

Yours respecfully,

G. THORN.

But for the loss of the pearls, we should have been jubilant.

* * * * *

Three days had elapsed since the dog show.

The whole of the morning and part of the afternoon I had spent in a bathroom, supervising the disconnection, severance and inspection of the waste-pipe which served the basin. When, hot and dejected, I made my report at half-past three, Adele thanked me as prettily as if I had found the pearls.

I retired to wash and change into flannels.

It must have been two hours later when I looked up from the operation of combing Nobby and took my pipe from my mouth.

"Oh, Adele," I said simply, "I do love you so."

Adele put out a hand and touched my hair.

"I'm glad you do," she said gently.

As I got upon my feet, one end of her necklace hung trailing over the edge of my trousers where I had turned them up. They were the pair I had worn at tennis the day we had gone to the fair, and it must have fallen into the fold when we were finding the thorn.

Adele saw it too, but, when I would have stooped, she shook her head.

Then I looked into her eyes, and there found such a light that I forgot the pearls and the rolling world with them.

As she slipped into my arms, she threw back her head.

"Once, at Port Said, you kissed me," she whispered. "And again at Rome." I nodded. "But this is your own home."

"Yes," I said steadily. "And here I plight thee my troth."

The brown eyes closed, and a glorious smile swept Into the beautiful face.

For a moment I gazed at her....

Then I kissed the red, red lips.

So we comforted one another.

* * * * *

The unexpected arrival of the laundry van at five minutes to eight, with, amongst other things, a month's table-linen, had pardonably dislocated the service of dinner.

Whilst the table was being relaid we spent the time in the library, gathered about the violet-tongued comfort of a chestnut-root fire.

"You know," said Jonah, looking up from an armchair, "if we don't——Good Heavens!" His exclamation was so violent that we all jumped. "Why," he cried, staring at Adele, "you've found them!"

A common cry of amazement broke from Daphne, Berry and Jill, and our guest started guiltily and put a hand to her throat.

"O-o-oh, I "—she shot an appealing glance at me—"we quite forgot. Boy found them in the garden, whilst he was combing Nobby."

Berry looked round.

"You hear?" he said. "They quite forgot.... They stumble upon jewels worth a month of strike pay—baubles whose loss has stupefied the County, and forget to mention it. And I spent two hours this afternoon in a gas-mask studying the plan of the drains and calculating whether, if the second manhole was opened and a gorgonzola put down to draw the fire, Jonah could reach the grease-trap before he became unconscious." He raised his eyes to heaven and groaned. "The only possible excuse," he added, "is that you're both in...."

His voice tailed off, as he met Adele's look, and he got suddenly upon his feet.

Jonah stood up, too.

Daphne took Adele's hands in hers and turned to me a face radiant with expectation.

Jill caught at my sleeve and began to tremble. I put my arm about her and looked round.

"We plead that excuse," I said.

For a moment nobody moved.

Then Jonah limped to my dear and put her hand to his lips. Adele stooped and kissed him.

"You beautiful darling," breathed my sister. "Sargent shall paint you, and you shall hang at the foot of the stairs."

The two kissed one another tenderly.

Then Adele stretched out her white arms to grey-eyed Jill. My little cousin just clung to her.

"Oh, Adele," she whispered, "I'm so glad. B-but you won't go away? He and you'll stay with us, won't you?"

"If you want me, darling."

Berry cleared his throat.

"Of course," he said, "as the head of the family—the overlord—I should have come first. However, I shall kiss her 'Good night' instead. Possibly I shall ker-rush her to me." He turned to me. "This will be the second time within my memory that a Pleydell has married above him."

"Very true," said I. "When was the first?"

"When I married your sister."

I nodded dreamily.

"I think," I said, "I think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth."

Berry shook his head.

"Not a spoon," he said. "A soup-ladle."

THE END



NEW FICTION

THE BOX FROM JAPAN

By

HARRY STEPHEN KEELER

Another baffling story by the great detective-story writer who is already becoming world-famous for his marvellously intricate and ingenious plots. This story is a jewel of many facets in brilliant setting. Here Mr. Keeler's genius for the mystery-plot comes into an amazing perfection.

Popular successes by this Author:

The Amazing Web Thieves' Nights The Fourth King The Green Jade Hand Sing Sing Nights The Tiger Snake The Blue Spectacles Find the Clock The Black Satchel

All who love strong character and thrilling incident will revel in this essentially clever story.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

CALEB'S CONQUEST

By JOSEPH HOCKING

Caleb, the sixteen-year-old son of a small farmer, ran away on his father's death and engaged himself as a farm labourer. What he discovers in the next few years makes a typical Hocking Cornish adventure romance.

Other popular Stories by this Author:

Mistress Nancy Molesworth The Birthright Ishmael Pengelly God and Mammon The Weapons of Mystery Heartsease The Tenant of Cromlech Cottage Nancy Trevanion's Legacy The Secret of Trescobell A Prince of this World Greater Love Jabez Easterbrook An Enemy Hath Done This Roger Trewinion The Sign of the Triangle Out of the Depths

There are few better story-tellers than Mr. Joseph Hocking, especially when he is dealing with his beloved Cornwall. His stories are thrillingly interesting, and rivet the attention of the reader from beginning to end.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

THE SIGN OF THE GLOVE

(Another "LEATHERMOUTH" Novel.)

By CARLTON DAWE

Colonel Gantian ("Leathermouth") is called upon by his friend, a Commissioner of Scotland Yard, to help in elucidating the mysterious events behind the death of the late Governor of Bombay. With much hesitation and reluctance, having just got married, he accepts the mission. But it sends him walking into many dangers, and it is only with much trouble that finally he is triumphant.

Other recent successes by this Author:

Leathermouth The Glare The Forbidden Shrine The Knightsbridge Affair Slings and Arrows Love, the Conqueror Pacific Blue The Desirable Woman The Winding Road The Missing Clue Fishers of Men Wanted

"For a certain crispness of dialogue, and deft arrangement of the events of a good plot, Mr. Carlton Dawe has very few rivals."—The Yorkshire Post.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

A MYSTERY CHAIN

By L. G. MOBERLY

This story deals with a foreign woman, who poses as a great philanthropist, but who, under cover of her social activities, is involved in very other matters. What these are must be left to Miss Moberly to tell, and she tells them in a story of great power, vividness and charm.

Some of Miss Moberly's previous successes:

The Voice Fingers of Fate Stepping Stones Hope, My Wife Vere Diana A Tangled Web A Way of Escape Threads of Life The Eternal Dustbin Renewal A Change and a Chance The Master Key

In the long list of successful novelists Miss Moberly takes a high place. Her novels are not merely thrillers, but a readable love story is invariably woven into the mystery.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

THE YELLOW WAGON

By CHARMAN EDWARDS

A beautiful woman, destined to be England's most famous actress, born amid the glamour yet hardship of that picturesque and now almost obsolete institution of rural England, the travelling theatre. Against this coloured background and that of the West-end stage is the story of the men who craved her for her beauty alone. Here is no impossible heroine who survives her many ordeals unscathed—Sheila Fitzpatrick is but human after all—but the reader's sympathy will be with her to the end.

By the same Author:

Windfellow Derision High Street Rainbrother Sir Richard Penniless Mr. Edwards writes in a manner that holds one to his story. Characterisation comes easy to him. He has a facility for sustained suspense and he constructs with admirable economy.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

THE PITIFUL LADY

By KATHARINE TYNAN

Robin, when left alone in the world, with her great love for animals, finds her vocation in veterinary surgery. The a returning of a lost dog to its owner brings into her life a new interest, and through the episodes that follow Katharine Tynan brings to a satisfactory conclusion one of the most charming and characteristic of her romances.

Other popular Stories by this Author:

Pat, the Adventurer The Briar Bush Maid A Fine Gentleman The Wild Adventure Castle Perilous The Squire's Sweetheart The Most Charming Family The Admirable Simmons The Playground My Love's But a Lassie Phillipa's Lover Delia's Orchard

Clean, wholesome love stories, free from intrigue and sensationalism, and containing well-drawn characters and good dialogue.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

TILL DOOMSDAY

By ROBIN TEMPLE

The dramatic story of a man whose divorced wife, an actress, seeks, for vanity's sake, to allure him back to her and away from another woman who has entered his life, and with whom he has fallen in love. The story moves with a sure pace throughout, and the end is finely wrought.

To all who like a powerful adventure story, written with a punch, this novel can be whole-heartedly recommended.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

WHITE GOLD

By OTTWELL BINNS

To Ferrars, home on leave, came an S O S call from a friend gaoled in Mozambique. He held the secret of a platinum find, and corrupt officials wished to filch it from him. A thrilling rescue and a neck-and-neck race for the treasure followed.

Other Stories by this Author:

The White Hands of Justice The Grey Rat A Mating in the Wilds Where the Aurora Flames Java Jack A Sin of Silence The Secret Pearls Snowbird Jim Trelawney The Flaming Crescent The Man from Maloba The Love that Believeth A Gipsy of the North An Adventurer of the Bay Behind the Ranges The Diamond Trail The Three Black Dots The Vanished Guest

"Mr. Binns gives us a story, clear-cut of pattern and compactly woven, and when it has been read, we turn to it again for the sake of the atmosphere of the wilds."—Yorkshire Observer.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

PANDORA'S BOX

AND OTHER STORIES

By STEPHEN McKENNA

A volume of great charm and wit, fully representing the author's varied talents, and vigorously written in the style that has made him famous.

Mr. Stephen McKenna's admirers, and their number is legion, will rejoice in this attractive volume.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

THE RETURN OF JENNY WEAVER

By MARGARET TURNBULL

A murder trial that becomes more complex as it proceeds, and (strange to say) less sordid; for under cross-examination there gradually emerges the story of a bygone romance so touching that the young squire, on his acquittal of the murder charge, yields the centre of the stage to his poor, foolish, fluttering mother.

By the same Author:

The Handsome Man A Monkey in Silk The Left Lady

The Author writes a rattling good yarn, full of excitement. Thoroughly brisk in action, her stories are told in a virile and spirited manner.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

WINNING THROUGH

By JESSE TEMPLETON

The story of the shipwreck of an Atlantic Liner and of the thrilling adventures that befall a small party of survivors stranded in Labrador. Their efforts to reach civilisation have an epic character, yet a romantic thread runs through the story to the very end.

Previous Novels by this Author:

Dead or Alive Between the Tides Clay-Face The Bitter Test The Yellow Hibiscus Ten Fathoms Deep

Mr. Templeton has reached distinct artistry in attractive dialogue, in clean and wholesome action and in presentation of exciting situations without undue strain on credulity.

WARD, LOCK &CO., LIMITED

NEW FICTION

THE HAWKMOOR MYSTERY

By W. H. LANE CRAUFORD

Author of "The Missing Ace"

A diamond of incalculable value is stolen from an Indian Temple by Captain Berrington. Then, some twenty years afterwards, in an English country house, there are strange and bewildering happenings. The elucidation of the mystery involved makes an exceptionally thrilling and powerful story.

A story written in a light vein that will bring many a chuckle to you whilst its most absorbing problem is gradually unfolded.

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

THE END