yHiID INITALLMINT
Chapter lV—Continuod
.r turned ,aside. “You must
a; that." be said. shortly.
m I man has only one capacity.
no capacity has no outlet, he
I m ,. no to seed in a wrong di-
m, lrultivato weeds—at abomi-
uwmcr and a very small re
. He stood with his back to
re. facing his visitor; his atti-
ns a curious blending of pride,
rare. and despondency.
mtwte leaned forward again.
an; speak of yourself like that?
m are a man of intelligence and
duration.” Ila spoke queationingiy.
litriously.
"Intelligence and education i" Lo-
der laughed shortly. "London is ce-
mented with intelligence. And edu-
ratini What is education? The
court dress necessary to presenta-
tli‘l‘l. the wig and gown necessary to
the barrister. But do the wig and
"on necessarily mean briefs? Or
'he court dress royal favor? Educa-
doll is the accessory; it is influence
mt is essential. You should know
ilsi."
Chilcote moved restlessiy in his
mt. "You talk bitterly,” he said.
The other looked up. “I think bit-
miy. which is worse. I am one of
m unlucky beggars who. in the ex-
pmtion of money. has been denied
mateuion—even a trade, to which
otling in time of shipwreck: and
in when disaster comes, drift out
lma I warned you the other nil-I‘ll
"steer clear of me. I come under
the head of flotsam!"
Fli'lcote's face lighted.
. crapper?" he asked.
'.\v)_ It was some one else who
mm the cropper—I only dealt in re-
putts."
'é-lg results?"
\ drop from a probable eighty
HMusand pounds to a certain eight
hundred."
Chilcote glanced up.
you take it?" he asked.
“I? Oh, I was twenty-five then. I
ltd a good many hopes and a lot of
prde: but there is no place for
cum in s working world."
"nit your people?"
w~ last relation died with the for-
that"
‘l'nur frldndlr'
[Mu-r laid down his pipe. "I told
you i was twenty-five." he said. with
tile tinge of humor that sometimes
mssed his manner. "Doesn't that
explain things! I had never taken
mats in prosperity; a change of
{mm was not‘ likely to alter my
ways. As I have said. I was twenty.
Ive.” He smiled. “When I realized
a: position I sold all my belongings
with the exception of a table and a
fsv looks—which I stored. I put
as s vaiking-snit and let my beard
gm: than, with my entire capital
is my pocket. I left England without
Irina good-bye to any one."
"For how long?"
"Oh. for six years. I wandered
hit over llurope and through a
good part of Asia in the time."
"And then!"
"Then? Oh. I shaved o! the beard
and came back to London i“ He
looked at Chilcote. partly contemptu-
ous. portly amused at his curiosity.
But Chilcote sat staring in silence.
The domination of the other's per-
sonality and the futility of his
achievements bafiied him.
Loder saw his bewilderment. “You
vendor what the devil I came into
the world for,” he said. "I some-
:mes wonder the same myself."
At his wordaa change passed over
”\llcote. He half rose, then dropped
irk into his seat.
"You have no friends?" he said.
'Inar life is worth nothing to you?"
Loder raised his head. “I thought
lhad conveyed that impression."
“You are an absolutely free man."
"No man is free who works for his
Dread. If things had been different
lmlxht have been in such shoes as
rum. sauntering in legislative hy-
urs; my hopes turned that way
me But hopes, like more substan-
':i: 'hings, belong to the past—" He
liarped abruptly and looked at his
companion.
The change in Chilcote had be-
mne more acute: he sat fingering
its cigarette. his brows drawn down,
list lips set nervously in a confilct or
motions. For a space he stayed
"'1 still, avoiding Loder's eyes ;
than. as if decision had suddenly
tone to him. he turned and met his
rm,
"How if there was a future." he
said, “as well as a past?"
and
"You came
5
“flow did
CHAPTER V.
R the space of a minute there
was silence in the room, then out-
wia in the still night three clocks
simultaneously chimed eleven. and
lhelr announcement was taken up and
'hoed by half a dozen others, loud
no faint, hoarse and resonant; for
I" 'h rough the hours of darkness the
ileiborhoed of Fleet Street is alive
'in chimes.
Chilcote. startled by the Jungle.
In from his seat; then. as if driven
'7 an uncontrollable impulse, he
Illa again.
‘im probably think I am mad—F
iinn.
idler took his pipe out of his
hill. 'Im not so presumptuous.”
ham. quietly.
'"aspaoethoetheroyedhim
“my. as it arias to snare his
late: th- once more he broke
O
"film‘h-ld. “Immate-
~l'-w~_ ' ‘ '
BY resume, cnc
1., Tl-IuRSTON “\afi a1 .- - ‘ . -
This famous'novel is ' in serial form arrangement with Richard Wdtomxunydnwhose screenwrdon,a
current First National man adapted fmnylohn Bantu-Booths dramatization. Guy Bates Post 371”an ~
British government.
and walks.
good natured conversation.
and irritable.
ALLSOPP.
home of
LADY ASTRUPP.
complains of his nerves, recalls
leaves.
in his pockets. finds that he has
proposition.
night to make u proposition. “'hcn I
have made It you'll first of all leer
ill lt—as I .lecrcd when I made it to
myself; then. you‘ll see. its posslhlll-
ties-ns I did: then"-~he paused and
glanced around the room nervously-—
“then you'll accept lt—ns I did." In
the uneasy Music of his spocch his
words broke off almost unintelligihly.
Involuntnrily Loder lifted his head
to retort, but Chilcote put lip his
hand. His face was set with the obsti—
nate determination that weak men
sometimes exhibit.
"Before I begin I want to say that
I am not drunk-that I am neither
mad nor drunk." Ile looked fully at
his companion with his restless
glance. “I am quite sane—quite
reasonable."
Again Loder essaycd to speak, but
again he put up his hand.
“No. Hear me out. You inltl me
something of your story. I‘ll tell you
something of mine. You'll be lhe first
person, man or woman that l have
confided in for ten yeuis You any
you have been treated slumoll}. I
have treated myself shahblly—tvhlch
is harder to reconcile.
away.”
There was a strained pauSe, then
again Loder lifted his head.
“Morphin 7" he said, very quietly.
Chilcote wheeled round with a
scared gesture. "How did you know
that?" he asked sharply.
The other smiled. “It wasn‘t guess-
ing—it wasn't even deduction. You
told me, or as good as told me. in the
fog—when we talked of Lexington.
You were unstrung that night, and
I— Well. perhaps one gets over-
observant from living alone." He
smiled again.
(‘hllcote collapsed into his former
seat and passed his handkerchief
across his forehead.
Loder watched him for a space;
then he spoke. “Why don't you pull
up?" he said. “You are a young man
still. Why don't you drop the thing
before it gets too late?” His face was
unsympathetic, and below the ques-
tion in his voice lay a note of hard-
ness.
Chilcote returned his glance. The
suggestion of reproof had accentu~
ated his pallor. Under his excitement
he.looked ill and worn.
“You might talk till doomsday, but
every word would be wasted," he
said, irritably. :‘l‘m past praying for,
by something like six years."
“Then why come here?" Loder was
pulling hard on his pipe. ‘.‘I'm not a
dealer in sympathy."
"I don't require sympathy.” Chil-
cote rose again. He was still agitated,
but the agitation was quieter. “I
want a much more expensive thing
than sympathy—and I am willing to
pay for it."
The other turnedmnd looked at
him. “I have no possession in the
world that would be worth a fiver to
you," he said, coldly. “You're either
under a‘deluslon or you're wasting
my time."
Chilcotelaughed nervously. "Wait."
he said. “Wait. I only ask you to
wait. First let me sketch you my
In the dense fog he jostles a stranger.
Chilcote strikes a match to light his cigar-
ette. He is amazed to see that the other man is the exact counterpart
of himself. They exchange cards, the stranger's revealing him to be
JOHN LODER. 0n the following morning Chilcote awaken depressed
lie is very disagreeable with his man-servant,
Left alone for a few minutes Chilcote mixes some whisky
and soda, into which he drops two tabloids, and drains the contents.
When Allsopp returns Chilcote’s nervousness is apparently gone.
After breakfast his irritability returns with the arrival of his secretary,
BLESSINGTON, who annoys him with political matters, and Chilcote
leaves the house, wandering aimlessly.
I had cvery.
chance—and I chucked every chance?
THE CHARACTERS IN THE STORY
JOHN CHILCOTE, member of the House of Commons, is the first man
to hurry from his place when Parliament adjourna on a January night
that is marked by the blackest fog in years and the news of border
rialngs against the Persian government whichare branded by
LAKELY, editor of St. George's. as the index of a long-cherished Russian
scheme, growing to gradual maturity under the “drift" policy of the
Nervous and high' strung, Chilcote refuses a cab
They indulge in
He finally takes a cab to the
They chat familiarly and sentimentally. Chilcote
an appointment at the House and
lie usually carried his morphia tabloids with him, but, feeling
forgotten them. Realizing that he
has become a hopeless slave to drug. he calls upon Loder to submit a
“What is your work?” he asks.
"But your wife?"
"Oh, my wife knew nothing—knows
nothing. It is the political business,
the beastly routine of the political
life,“ that is wearing the out.” He
stopped nervously, then hurried on
again. "I tell you 'it’s hell to see the
same faces, to sit in the same seat
day in, day out, knowing all the time
that you must hold yourself in hand,
must keep your grip on the reins—~”
"It is always possible to apply for
the Chlltern Hundreds."
"To retire? Possible to retire?"
Chilcote broke into a loud, sarcastic
laugh. “You don't know what the
local pressure of a place like Wark
stands for. Twenty times I have been
within an ace of chucking the whole
thing. Once last year I wrote pri-
vately to Vale, one of our big men
there, and hinted that my health was
bad. Two hours nftef‘ he had read my
letter he was in my study. Had I
been in Greenland the result would
have been the same. No. Resignation
is a meaningless word to a man like
me."
Loder looked down.
said, slowly, “I see."
”Then y0u see everything—the dlfil-
cuity, the lsolntlon of the position.
Five years ago—three-even two
years ago—I was able to endure it;
now it gets more unbearable with
every month. The day is bound to
come when—when"—he paused. hesi-
“I see." he
As the visitor entered, Loder walked quietly across the
room and opened the door. [Guy Bates Post portraying the
dual role of John Chilcote and John laden] .
Westmoreland; he was one of the
first of his day and his class to recog-
nize that there was a future in trade,
so, breaking his own little twig from
the family tree, he went’snuth to
Work and entered a shlp~owniug firm.
In thirty years' time he died. the
owner of one of the biggest trades in
England, having married the daugh-
[er of his chief. lily father was twen-
ty-four and still at. Oxford when he
inherited. Almost his first act was to
reverse my grandfather's early move
by going north and piecing together
the family friendship. He married his
first cousin; and then, with the (Tbil-
cotc prestige revived and the shipping
money to back it; he entered on his
ambition, which was to represent
East Work in the Conservative inter-
est. It was a big fight, but he won—
as much by personal influence as by
any other. He was an aristocrat, but
he was a keen business-man as well.
The combination carries weight with
your lower classes. He never did
much in the House, but he was a
power to his party in Wark. They
still use his name there to conjure
with."
Loder leaned forward interestedly.
2 "Robert Chilcote?" he said. “I have
heard of him. One of those fine, un-
lostentatious figures—strong in action,
‘a little narrow in outlook, perhfile.
but essential to a country's staying
power. You have every reason to', be
proud of your father.” '
Chilcote laughed suddenly. “How
easily we sum up, when a matter is
impersonal! My father may have
been a fine figure, but he shouldn't
have left me to climb to his pedestal."
Loder’s eyes questioned. In his
newly awakened interest he had let
his pipe go out.
“Don't you grasp my meaning?"
Chilcote went on. "My father died
and I was elected for East Wark.
You may say that if I had no real
inclination for the position.l could
have kicked. But I tell you Ifcouldn't.
Every .. local interest, poligcal and
commercial. hung upon the candidate
being a Chilcote. I did what eight
men obt of ten would have done.‘ I
yielded to pressure."
"It was a fine opening!” The words
escaped Loder. ‘
"Most prisons have wide gates i"
Chilcote laughed again unpleasantly.
“That was six years ago. I bad start-
ed on the morphla tack four years
earlier, but up to my father's death
I had it under my thumb—or believed
I had; and in the realisation of my
new responsibilities and the excite
merit of the political fight I almost
put it aside. For several months after
I entered Parliament I worked. I be-
lieve I made one speech that marked
me as a coming man." He laughed
derisively. “I even married—"
“Married?”
“Yes. A girl of nineteen—the ward
of a great sta . It was a bril-
liant marriage—pol cally as well as
socially. But it didn't work. I was
born without the capacity for love.
Firstthesodalllfiepalledonme:
then my' work grew “home. There
was only one factor to make line
endurable — morphla. Before six
position-it won't take many words:
“My grandfather was a Chilcote o!
. . —— ... ‘ .__.-/
“WWW
months were on I had fully admitted
‘.
.'I,
\~"’
l
tating nervously—“when it will be
physically impossible for me to be at
my post."
Loder remained Silent.
“Physically impossible," Chilcote
repeated, excitedly. “Until lately I
was able to calculate-t0 count upon
myself to some extent; but yesterday
I received a shack—yesterday I dis-
covered thnt—lhut"~—again he hesi-
tated painfully—“that I have passed
the stage when one may calculate.”
The situation was growing more
embarrassing. To hide its awkward—
ness, Loder moved back to the grate
and rebuilt the fire, which had fallen
low. .
Chilcote. still excited by his un-
usual \‘t‘llOlllOl‘.“(‘, followed him, tak-
ing up :i position by the mantel-piece.
"Well?" he said, looking down.
Very slowly Loder rose from his
task. “Well?" he reiterated.
“Have you nothing to say?"
“Nothing, except that your story is
unique, and that I suppose I am flat-
tered by your confidence.” Ills voice
was intentionally hrusquc.
Chilt‘oie paid no attention to the
voice. Taking a step forward, he laid
his fingers on the lapel of Loder‘s
icoar. '
‘ "l havu passed the stage where I
can count upon myself," he sold, "and
I want to count upon somebody else.
I want to keep my place in the
world's eyes and yet be free—"
Loder drew buck involuntarily, con-
tempt struggling with bewilderment
in his cxprcssion.
(‘liilcolc liflcd his head. “By an
extraordinary chance,” he said. “you
‘cuc Co for me. what no other man in
creation ccilld do. It was suggested
.to me unconsciously by the story of :i
book—a book in which men change
identities, I saw nothing in it at the
time, but this morning, as I lay in
been, sick with yesterday's fiasco, it
came Dat‘h to me—it rushed over my
mind in an insplg'atiou. It will save
me— and make you. I‘m not insulting
you, though you may think 50."
Without remark Loder freed him-
self from the other‘s touch and walked
back to his desk. Ills anger, his pride,
and, against his will, his excitement
were all aroused.
He sat down, leaned his elbow on
the desk. and took his face between
his hands. The man behind him un-
doubtedly talked madness; but after
llVe yeais of dreary sanity? madness
had a fascmailtm. Against all reason
it stirred and roused him. For one
instant his pride and his anger fal-
tered before it, then common-sense
flowed back again and adjusted the
balance.
“You propose." he said slowly,
“that for a consideration of money I
us~and become 'your dummy, when
you are otherwise engaged?"
il‘niicotu colored. “You are unpleas-
anils blunt," he said.
“But I have caught your meaning?"
“In the rough, yes."
Loder nodded curtiy. “Then take
my advice and go home." he said.
"You're unhiuged."
The other, returned his glance. and
as their eyes met Loder was reluc-
tantly compelled to admit that, though
the face was disturbed, it had no
traces of insanity.
"I make you a proposal," Chilcote
repeated, nervously but with distinct-
ness. “Do you accept?"
For an instant Loder was at a loss
to find a reply sufllclently final. Chil-
cote broke in upon the pause.
“After all." he‘ urged, “what I ask
Of you is a simple thing. Merely to
carry through my routine duties fore
a week or two occasionally when I
find my endurance giving way—when
work would be nothing'to a man in
your state of mind. the pay anything
nu like to. e." In his eagerness
he had W'Loder to the desk.
"Won't you give me. an answer? I
told you I a’ib neither mad nordrnnk."
Loder pushed back the scattered
papers that lay under his arm. .
“Only a lunatic would propose such
a scheme," he said, bruouuely and
“Why?" » .
The othea‘s-llpa'parted for a quick
retort; than lna surprising way the
should trade on the likeness between .
a respite becomes essentiaL The.
retort seemed to fail him. “Oh.”be-
cause the thingvzlsn't feasible. lan’t
practicable from any point of view.”
Chilcote stepped closer. “\Vhy?" he
insisted. '
"Because it couldn’t work, man!
Couldn‘t hold for a dozen hours.”
Chilcote put out his hand and
touched his arm. “But why?" he urged.
“Why? Give me one unanswerable
reason."
Loder shook off the hand and
laughed, but below his laugh lay a
suggestion of the other‘s excitement.
Again the scene stirred him against
his sounder Judgment: though his re-
DLV. when it came, was firm enough.
“As for reasons—” e said. "There
are a hundred, if I had time to name
them. Take it, for the sake 'of sup-
position, that I were to accept your
offer. I should take my place ingom‘
house at—let us say at dinner-time.
Your man gets me into your evening-
clothes, and there, at the very start.
you have the first suspicion set up.
He has probably known you for years
—-kuown you until every turn of your
appearance, voice. and manner is far
more familiar to him than it is to you.
There are no eyes like a servant‘s.
"I have thought of that. My serv-
ant and my secretary can both be
changed. I will .the thing thor-
oughiy.”
Loder glanced at him in surprise.
The madness had more method than
he had believed. Then, as he still
looked. a fresh idea struck him, and
he laughed.
' “You have entirely forgotten one
miss your wife." --~
“My wife doesn't count."
Again Loder laughed. “I‘m afraid
I scarcely agree. The complications
would be slightly—slightly—" He
paused.
Cllilcote‘s latent irritability broke
out suddenly. “Look here." he said,
,“thls isn‘t a chatting matter. It. may
be moonshine to you, but it's reality
to me."
Again Loder took his face between
his hands.
"Don‘t ridicule the idea.
dead earliest."
Loder said nothing. ..
"Think—think it over before you
refuse."
For a moment Loder remained
motionless; then he rose suddenly,
pushing back his chair.
“Tush, man! You don’t know what
you say. The fact of your being mar-
ried bars it. Can't you see that?"
Again Chilcote caught his am.
“You misunderstand," be said. “You
mistake the position. I tell you my
wife and I are nothing to each other.
She goes her way; I go mine. We
have our own friends, our own rooms.
Marriage, actual marriage, doesn't
enter the question. We meet occa-
sionally at meals, and at other peo-
ple‘s houses; sometimes we 'go out
together for the sake of appearances;
beyond that, nothing. If you take up
my life, nobody in it will trouble you
less than Eve-I can promise that."
He laughed unsteadlly.
Loder‘s face remained unmoved.
“Even granting that," he said, “the
thing is still impossible."
u“vhy?n
“There is the house. The position
there would be untenable. A man is
known there as he is known in his
own club." He drew away from Chil-
cote's touch.
“Very possibly. Very possibly."
Chilcote laughed quickly and exclted-
ly. “But what club is without its
eccentric member? I am glad you
spoke of that. I am glad you raised
that point. It was a long time ago
that I hit upon a reputation for moods
as a shield for—for other things, and,
the more useful it has become, the
Truth
' remix
you might godown to the House. to-
morrow and spend the whole day
without? , to. even nodding to.
a sinus-man; selfless 10sz
I to 'appearane’es no one
revises-axiom vocals no place. ask
a question; make swap-sock}! you
thing," he said. You can hardly dls- I
involuntarily. For a. fleeting second
the coldness of his manner iropped
and his face changed. ‘
Chilcote. with his nervous quick-
ness of perception, saw the alteration,
and a new look crossed his own face.
"Why not," he said quickly. “You
once had ambitions in that direction.
W‘by not renew the ambitions?" ‘
'fAnd drop back from the mountains
into the gutter?" Loder smiled and
slowly shoo’ k his head. -
“Better to live for one day than to
exist for a hundred!” Chllcote‘s voice
trembled with anxiety. For the third.
time be extended his hand and
touched the other.
F This time Loder did not shake of
the detaining hand; he ' scarcely
seemed to feel its pressure.
"Look here." Chilgote‘s fingers
tightened. “A little while ago you
talked of influence. Here you can
step into a position built by influence.
You might do all you once hoped to
do——"'
Loder suddenly lifted his head.
“Absurdl” he said. “Absurd! Such
a scheme was never carried through."
}‘Precisely why it will succeed. Peo-
ple never suspect until they have a
preceaent. Will you consider it? At
least consider it. Remember, if there
is a risk, it is I whoam running it.
On your own showing, you have no
position to jeopardize."
The other laughed curtly.
"Before I go to-night will you
promise me to consider in".
“No." '
“Then you will send me your decl-
slon by wire tomorrow. I won’t take
your answer now."
Loder freed his arm abruptly. “Why
not?" he asked.
~Chilcote smiled nervously.\ "Be-
cause I know men—and men's temptaw
tions. We are all very strong till the
quick is touched; then we all wince.
It's morphla with one man, ambitions
with .another. In each case it's only
In matter of sooner or later." He
laughed in his satirical, uns‘frung
way, and held out his hand. “You
have my address." he said. “Au
revolr." .
Loder pressed the hand and dropped
it. "Good-bye." e said mesningly.
Then he crossed the room quietly and
held the door open. ”Goodbye," be
said again as the other passed him.
As he crossed the threshold, Chil-
cote paused. “Au revolr," be correct-
ed, with emphasis. ‘
steps had died away Loder stood with
his hand on the door; the closing it
quietly. he turned and loo‘ed round
the room. For a considerable space
he stood there as if weighing the
merits of each object: then very slow-
ly he moved to one o the book-
shelves, drew out Mays ornament-
ary Practice, and, carrying It to the
desk, readjusted the lamp.
o
CHAPTER Vi
ALL the next day Chilcote moved
in a fervor of excitement. Hot
with hope one moment, cold with
fever the next, be rushed with rest-
less euergy into every task that pre-
sented itself—only to drop it ‘as
speedily. Nice during the morning
he drove to the entrance of Cliiford‘s
Inn, but each time his courage failed
him and he returned to Grosvenor
Square—to learn that the expected
message from Loder had not come.
‘ It was a wearing condition of
mind; but at worst it was scarcely
more than an exaggeration of what
his state had been for months, and
made'but little obvious difference in
his bearing or manner. ‘
In the afternoon he took his place
Noumea-lithium I
more I have. let itfgrow." I tell you,
wean raiseaneyebrow. lathesame‘ ~~
in the House, but. though it was his
J-..
Civ-
ammud.”lsebegal.
. - ’ .
ev‘ v. .77...od
first appearance since his allure of
:toodaya ago,~he_drewbut_amali pes-
malnottoe. When he chose,‘ his
manner could repel‘ advances with
extreme elect. and'of‘late men had
haempoone to draw away helpline.
In.oneofthelobbleshocnoounter-,'
align-aide mm by a group or
m Withhlluaualfartlvehaste
" ”1an his party,‘thooldmaa .
Until the last echo of his visitor’s ‘
a
accosted him. He was always eon.
teously particular in his treatment
of Chilcote, as the husband of his
ward and godehild. 7 a
“Better, Chilcote?" be ‘aald, hold-
ing out his hand.
" At the sound of the low. rather
formal tones. so characteristic ofthe
old statesman, a hundred memories
rose to Chilcote's mind, a hundred ,
hours, distasteful in the living and
unbearable in the recollection; and
with them the new fiash of hope. the
new possibility -of freedom. In a
sudden rush of confidence he turned
to his leader. ‘
"I believe I‘ve found a remedy for
my nerves," he said. “1—! believe
I’m going to be a new man.” He
laughed with a touch of excitement.
Fralda pressed his fingers kindly.
right. I called at Grosvenor Square
this morning, but Eve told me your
illness of the other day was not seri-
ous. She was very busy this maca-
lng—she could only spare me a quar-
ter of an hour. She is indefatigable
over the social side of your proo-
pects, Chilcote. You owe her a large
debt. A' popular wife means a. great
deal to a politician." ,
The steady eyes of his companion
disturbed Chilcote.
He drew away his hand.
“Eve is unique," he said, vaguely.
Fraide smiled. “That is right," he
said. again. “Admiratlon Is mo
largely excluded from modern mar-
riages." And 'with a courteous ex-
cuse he rejoined his friends.
It was, dinner-time before Chilcote
could desert the House, but the mow
ment departure was possible he hur-
ried to Grosvenor Square.
As he entered' the house, the hallil
was empty. He swore lrritably un-
der his breath and pressed the near-
est bell. Since his momentary ex-,—
altatlon in Fralde’s presence, ibis
spirits had steadily fallen. until now
they hung at the lowest ebb.
As he waited in unconcealed im-
patience for an answer to his sum-
mons, he caught sight of his man
Allsopp at the head of the stairs.
“Come here i" he called, pleased to
find some one upon whom to vent his -
irritation. “Has that wire come for
me?” -
"No. sir. I inquired five minutes
back.”
“Inquire again."
"Yes, sir." -Allsopp disappeared.
A second after his disappearance
the bell of the hall door whixzed
loudly.
Chilcote started. All sudden
sounds, like all strong lights, afleci-
ed him. He half moved to the door.
then stopped himself with a short
exclamation. At the same instant
Allsopp reappeared. _
. Chilcote turned on him excitedly.
“What the devil’s the meaning of
this?” he said "A battery of serv-
ants in the house and nobody to open
the hall door 1"
Allsopp looked emban‘saed.
“Crapbam is coming directly, air.
He only left the hall to ask Jef-
fries-" ‘
Chilcote turned. “Confound Crap-
haml" he exclaimed. “Go and open
the door yourself.”
Allsopp hesitated. his dignity
struggling with his obediencb Ashe
waited. the bell,soundad again;
“Did you hear me?" Chilcote said.
“Yes, sir." Allsopp cropaed the
hall. -
As the ‘door was opened Chilcote
passed his handkerchief from one
hand to the other in the tension of
hope and fear; then. as the sound of
his own name in the shrill tones of a
telegraph-boy reached his ears, he
let the handkerchief drop to the
ground. '
Ansopp. took the yellow envelope
and carried it to his master.
“A telegram, air," he said. “And
the boy wishes to know If there Is an
answer.” Picking up Chlicote’s
handkerchief, he turned aside with
elaborate dignity.
Chilcote's hands were so unsteady ‘
that he could scarcely insert his fin-
ger under the flap of the envelope.
Tearing oi! a corner, he wrenched
the covering apart and smoothed out
the flimsy pihk paper.
The message was very simple, cono,
stating of but‘geven words:
“Shall expect you at eleven to-
night—Loder."
He read it two «three tlmu', that
he leaked up. “No answer.” heaald.
mechanically, and to his own ears
the’rellef in his voice sounded harsh
and unnatural. '
Exactly as the clocks chimed elev-
en Chilcote mounted the stairs to—
Loder-'s rooms. But this time more
was more of haste than of unear-
taintyinhissteps, and. reachingthe
landingheaosseditinaooupleof
strides and knocked feveruly on
the door. '
It opened at once, and Loder stood
before him. . ,
’Tho occasion was peanut: tor a
moment neither noke- each invol-
untarlly looked at t‘ other with
new eyes and undu- ehanged candl-
tions. Edi had assumed a fresh
stand-point 'h the other‘s thought.
mm a
x t —
lubeeontinued.
“That is right," he said. “That is.‘
‘u
7 9‘
Tbepasflngastonhhmennthehalf-J
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Norwalk Chronicler