point of dropping in the letter-box at his elbow. Instead, he thrust it in his pocket, along with the crushed telegram, and, taking a cab, hastened to the steamship offices to cancel his date for sailing.

The message read: “Return with all speed to London. Mr. Stretton lying in the hospital with a fractured skull.” Thus it was that Lady Tredwell’s pet spaniel, old and vicious, yapping at the heels of Mr. Stretton’s restive horse, while my lady’s maid — who should have been leading him out for an airing — was absorbed in listening to the compliments of one of the park guards, played so dire a part in the affairs of David Thryng.