THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LI, Issue 287, 28 November 1908, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

SHUSBWHY'S DETENTION.

By Arthur D. Wood. .'" Don't go yet, Skillsbury! Stop a Mt longer!" urged my friend Oxborrov, as be flicked the ashes from his cigar. "Not to-night, thanks," I replied, as I rose. " I'm a bit off colour, and late hours don't suit me. Besides, I want to be pretty fit when I go into the witnessbox to-morrow." -Into the witness-box?" ♦Vtes, it's that affair at Purfleet. Didn't you see the account in the papers?" "I noticed from the headlines that someone iiad been drugged and robbed in a train between Westcliff-and Purfleet, but.l didn't read the particulars. I always skip the police news. And so you're a- witness? For or against the prisoner?" "I'm the principal witness—in tact, the only one ao far as I can make out—for the prosecution."

" The only witness! How about the man who was robbed?" " lies dead!' i "' Phew! Oh, I remember now that be was murdered as well as robbed." "He must have had heart disease, and the drugging or the violence used was too much for him." "Then it's a case of murder. Sit down, Skillsbury, and tell me all about it, if it won't take long.". "I was returning from Purfleet," 1 began, as I reseated myself, and, striking a match, proceeded to relight my pipe, " where I'd been oa business. Just as I W&B getting into a carirage a nun bolted out, and collided with me. He was in such a dickens of a hurry that he didn't stop to apologise, but rushed away as if Old Nick were after him. P-y the time I'd picked up my hat and! pulled myself together, the train was beginning to move, so I scrambled !... There was only one other passenger in the compartment, and he was huddled up fa one corner in such a curious fashion, that I began to fear there was something wrong with him. I gave the alarm, and it soon became evident that he had been drugged and robbed." " And the fellow who nearly knocked you down was detained on suspicion?" "He got clear of the station, but was nabbed fortunately before he had gone far."

"And you were able to identify him*' "Yes. I've a good memory for faces, and, though I'd only just a moment's glimpse of his, I recognised him." " And the fellow's to be taken before the magistrates to-morrow?" "Yes. Its a horrid nuisance, for I'm very busy, and my nerves have all gone wrong." "Yes," assented Oxborrow. "That sort oi thing is rough on a fellow sometimes. I had a similar experience last month. I'd have given twenty pounds not to have sat on the jury, but—duty's duty. Going! Well, I won't urge you to stay under the circumstances." "It twill be my first appearance in the witness-hox," I remarked, as J reached the hall, "I>ut I'm afraid it won't be the last, for I expect the fellow will he "committed to the assizes." " Ah, well," rejoined Oxborrow, as he helped me with my overcoat, " you mast console yourself with the thought that you're Tendering the public a great ser- . vice, as indeed you are. These cases ol robbery with violence are on the inand the perpetrators generally '■ manage to escape. I'm glad the seoun- -. drel is caught, and hope he'll get his deserts." "It'll be a hanging job, I expect. Though the police didn't find any of the diamonds in the fellow's possesion, and have, in fact, no other evidence, the general opinion is that mine alone will suffice to convict him. Good-night!" Oxborrow lived at Streatham. I lodged about half-a-mile off on the outskirts of the suburb. I hurried along the silent and deserted streets, for I was later than I had intended to be. I had not proceeded far when I fancied I heard stealthy footsteps- behind me. It was a dark, showery night m March, but the flickering gas-lamps enabled me, as I turned my head, to catch , a glimpse of two dark figures. " T wonder whether it's a ease of serves, or whether they're footpads "" 1 said to myself.

The idea that I was being followed by two undesirables at such a time and in such a quiet locality was not a pleasant one to entertain, and 1 decided to put my hypothesis to the proof. The glimmer of the lamps of a slowly approaching vehicle seemed to me to make th" time propitious, since it gave promi"? of help if I should need it. Accordingly, I slackened my pace, so ns to allow my supposed shadowers to come up, then, stopping suddenly, I turned round aud faced them. As they were almost upon me, I stepped aside to allow them to pass. That, however, was obviously not their intention, for they, too, swerved, theu stopped dead in front of me. "Mr. Skilisbury, I believe?" said one of them, a short man in a bowler hat. The other man. I noth.-ed, was taller and wore a long ulster and trilby. "What do you—r" if began, but never finished the sentence, for, while the shorter man deftly thrust a leg be- . tween mine, the other sprang at my throat and hurled me backwards to the ground. I opened my mouth to shout for help, but no word, only a stifled sound, escaped my lips. By a sudden and dexterous movement, the man who had seized my throat slipped something soft and tasting like indiarubber into my mouth. ' I tore at it with my hands as I lay on my back with two knees on my chest, hut in vain. Despite my frantic efforts, . the pad was tightly tied behind me. I continued to resist stonily, struggling aud striking out with all my might. Bat it was no use. The driver of the vehicle, instead of coming to my assistance, helped the others to hold j me, and soon I was helpless. Tlwyl gagged and bound hand and foot, I was bundled into the four-wheeler. My two assailants jumped in, and the blinds were drawn down. " We are sorry to have used violence, but we had no alternative," said the little man apologetically to mc. The drive must have lasted nearly an hour, I should say. My captors scarcely spoke all the time, and the few words they exchanged with each

other were unintelligible to me. ' I chafed and fumed, and wondered what their intention was towards me, hut as niy captors vouchsafed no information, and as I could not ask any questions, I was obliged to await developments. ' 'When the vehicle stopped, a cloth was thrown over my head, my leg* were unbound, aad I was led up some steps, then along what I supposed to he a passage, up a steep staircase, and along another passage. Here a pause was made, and a few words in a foreign tongue were, exchanged between one of my guardians and another man. ■Presently I heard a door open. I -was led forward a few paces and regained standing. Next moment the cloth was removed from my head and the gag taken out of my mouth. I was glad of the relief thus afforded, as my jaws were beginning to ache. Looking round, I perceived that 1 was in a moderate-sized room, and that the furniture was worn and faded. By my side stood my two assailants, .the dapper little fellow with dark eyes and the. tall man still in ulster a.td hat. A third man sat at the table. He was not so dark as the others, but he had a determined, almost ferocious look that boded ill for anyone who might cross him. A revolver lay on the table in front of hjm, I at once surmised that I was rn tire presence of a section of some secret revolutionary society, or a gang of thieves, a. conjecture that did not serve

to improve my spirits or to calm ni; nerves. But I had ao time to indulg in apprehensive conjectures, for the mai who sat at the table at once proeeedei to address me. "I am very sorry to say, Mr. Skills bury." -he said in perfect English, " lha we sliall be obliged to detain you hen for a day or two, but you need feai no more ■personal violence, iinlesyou —" • "Indeed, how very kind!" I interject .ed. "Perhaps you will enlighten me us to.the object of this extraordinary pro seeding?" "Unfortunately I cannot accede lo your request," he replied, "except to gay that we arc actuated by no personal animosity towards yoursel'f." "That's a comforting reassurance," I gibed. "I s»ppose you are aware of the risk you are running in kidnapping an Englishman, for I beg to remind you that we are not in Morocco or MaceSon'm, but in England, and that " "Yon will do no good. Mr. Skillsburr, by indulging in sneers and herolea," interposed the spokesman of the Wo in cold, calm tones. "Tt is simply ilwaste of breath. Understand, please, that you must atay here for a day K. two, snd that resistance is useless. Hjw w* »mw*Me to reason, we will

try to make your sojourn as pleasant as possible, under the eircuuistauces." Then, turning to the others, he o.iid: "Give Mr. Skillsbury a chair, please!" A chair, was instantly placed for me. "Now you look more comfortable," •he contiuued. "Be good enough not to stir from your chair without permission. It won't lie safe." t As he made the last remark, he significantly, touched the revolver which lay on the table before him.

He then spoke to the tall man who had taken off his bat and ulster, and who, I now perceived, was clean-shaven like myself, and about my own height and build. Thereupon he—the tall man —moved a small occasional table and fixed a 9inall sown >.» as to hide it from my view. Then he lighted a small 'lamp which he placed on this table, while his comrade, fetching various small articles from a cupboard, put them also on the table. From the momentary and partial glances I had of them, I guessed they comprised shaving tackle. Jleanwhile, the leader had taken out a cigar-case, which he banded to me. Fearing to be drugged, 1 declined. He shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say: "Just as you like it; it makes no difference to me." Then, taking a cheroot out of the case and lighting it, he began to smoke. He took care, however,,not to take his eyes off me during the operation.

Presently, the little man took his stand by the side of the screen so as to command a view both of his colleague behind it and of myself. This was evident from the way he kept glancing first at me and then behind the screen. 1 next noticed that he began to be busy with something behind the screen, for his right hand was constantly moving. I could not see what he was doing, for only his face and the left half of his body were visible. At first I surmised irom the way his eyes travelled ; backwards and forwards from myself to

the back of the screen that he was painting my portrait. But if die were painting my portrait,

I presently asked myself, why did the otlier man remain motionless and in hiding behind the screen? How could he assist? What was he doing there? I asked myself these queries a dozen times. Suddenly it flashed across rny mind that the short man was making up the other as a facsimile of myself. They were evidently shady and desperate characters, probably criminals. The tall man was doubtless wanted by the police for some crime, and his " makeup " to resemble myself was a ruse to, enable him to get safely out of the country. This performance lasted a long time—quite two hours it seemed to me, though it was probably not quite so long us that. The leader sat at the tabic puffing at ius cigar, and watching me the whole of the time. At least, it seemed so to me, for every time I looked at torn his eye was upon me. Only an occasional remark in an unknown tongue was exchanged between the trio. At last the little man's hand stopped, and he seemed to gaze critically at the result of his labours. Then he sat to work again, though more slowly than before, as if he were giving his work a few finishing touches. Presently he made some remark to the man at the table. The latter rose, took up the revolver, and, handing it to the little man, proceeded to examine his handiwork behind the screen, while his colleague stood guard over me. In a few minutes ike leader returned to bis place at the table. 1 was then told I might sleep on the couch without fear of being disturbed. Keeling worn out, I accepted the offer and was soon fast asleep. The next day was quite urie.iinful. I chafed at my confinement and tried to devise some means of escape, but to no

purpose. The time passed very slowly. Papers and books were placed at my service, but 1 had no inclination to read. I was not allowed to leave the room, "and one ni my captors was on guard over me all the time. F'oud was brought, and as my guardians partook of it 1 abandoned my purpose of not touching anything, and ate and drank a little with them.

I do not remember going to bed, or even lying on the couch again, .«o 1

suppose I must have fallen asleep in my

chair. I was awakened by someone violently shaking me. 1 had a racking headache, and a horrid feeling of sickness. It took me quite two or three minutes, I should think, to collect my scattered senses suftkientlv to take in

the situation. At last I gathered that a policeman had found me sleeping in a doorway, ami that he wanted me *o aiTonip-uiv him to the nearest jiolk-c----statioii. Still half-dazed, I allowed him to lead mo t-'iithi-r. !!y the time we reached the station I had recovered my wits, and was aide to report to the otiicer on duty there all that had befallen me, adding that 1 must have been drugged and placed on the doorstep. He was incredulous, and informed me that lie would be obliged to detain me until my identity was proved. I was greatly annoyed, :but, deeming it wise to make >he best of a bad job, tried to possess my soul in patience. It was some time before the police were convinced of my veracity. But, when that consummation was achieved, they lost no time in trying to solve' the mystery. " It's a queer story, Mr. Skillsbury," commented the detective who interviewed me when he had heard my narrative. " Did you say you were to have given evidence before the magistrates yesterday against the man who is accused of having robbed and murdered | Mr. Croasdale in the train between Westcliff and Purfleet?" " Yes, hut I don't exactly see what that has to do with, my being kidnapped and " "I dare say aot!" ihe interposed brusquely. "Then 1 suppose you had previously identified the accused?" " Certainly." "One moment, please!" he, said, as though he thought I was going to speak. Reaching over to the telephone transmitter, he rang up the exchange. "Put me on 008 Purfleet, ipflcase! Thanks! Hullo! Are you there? Who is it? Inspector Postlethwaite? Eight! About the murder and robbery case in the train on the eighth, witness didn't turn up yesterday, I understand. What! The dickens he did! That's queer! And the result of the hearing? Was the prisoner committed for trial? What! Xnt committed? What then? Eeniandcd!' Xo? What! Acquitted? On what grounds ?" The detective ceased questioning in order to listen. I waited with impatient eagerness to hear what had happened at the trial. The mystery seemed to be deepening. Was I dreaming, or had I been labouring under some hal-

luci nation? '• By Jove, if it isn't one of the most ingenious and diabolical plots!" exclaimed the detective, as he put down the receiver. "What does he say?" I asked breath-

" The prisoner was acquitted," lie answered. " The witness—your Uoul)le, or impersonator, or whatever lie was—said tile prisoner was not the man.'' "Not the man?'' 1 gasped. "Hut "' " Yes. (>n being reminded that i:c had already identified the prisoner, witness said that on the occasion referred to lie had just dined, had imbibed ton freely, and didn't know what lie was saying. He was awfully sorry for having made such a terrible mistake, but, bavin." made it, he was anxious to rectify it, and so on. The inspector says it sounded like a cock-and-bull story (as no doubt it was), but the magistrates didn't seem to think so, and, as there wasn't a scrap of evidence against the prisoner, they had no option but to discharge him." The object of the villainous plot now flashed upon me. My kidnappers were the murderer's accomplices. The taller one bad impersonated me in the witnessbox, lie was about my own height and build, and had appropriated my outer garments. So cleverly had he been made up by the deft lingers of his

friends as a facsimile of myself, that the two or three officials who knew me by sight (and these were the ouly people in the court who had seen me before) had not detected the imposture. The clever rogues got off for the nonce, but 1 am glad to say they were all laid by the heels subsequently for a similar offence, and one oi them, who died in prison, confessed on his deathbed that lie was the murderer of Mr. iCroasdalc.

CHANCE, THE DIPLOMAT By Ada and Dudley James. Yes, ho was glad he had broken, the, journey at Cairo. This afternoon, jolting up from. Ismalia in the heat and the dust, he had not been so sure. But, now, after an excellent dinner, lounging on a long, wicker chair in the farthest corner of the verandah with an adjacent cup of coffee and a liqueur, it was borne in upon liim that the move had been a wise one. So far he had seen no one he knew. He had no regrets on thai scure; it was positively refreshing to get away from tlit- inanities of shipboard chatter and be a stranger in, the crowd.

The hotel verandah was dotted with little groups, laughing, chattering, drinking coffee. Pretty frocks rustled, pretty races looked prettier still in the half light, divers flirtations were progressing favourably. Archibald McAllister, CLE., surveyed it all from beneath partly-closed eyelids, and was content. It was good after many years in a distant corner of the Empire—distinctly good. Perhaps everything had become a little comfortably dim to Archibald McAllister when a voice said close behind his chair: •' Yes, coffee for two, please, the usual table." McAllister opened bis eyes with a jerk. The voice had awakened a train of memories—or were they but the Heeling shadow of a dream rudely inlenuptcJ.' The next table to him had been invaded, a woman was silting there, her back turned to him.

lie glanced approvingly at her fine, upright figure, at her white shoulders, named in a mist of chiffon frills, at the big, black hat perched with audacious picturesqueness on a muss of darkbrown hair.

Was it her voice which had aroused memories—memories ? He, closed his eyes again for a moment and saw a Devonshire lane, the red earth shining after a shower, the tall hedges smelling of wet fern, and a little, rosy, girlish face dancing with the very spirit of mischief. Green eyes, he remembered, a heavenward nose, and a way with her, certainly a way with her. How she ■ The sound of a scraping chair made him open his eyes. The lady hud risen,; and was in the act of drawing on her j wrap when their eyes met. There was a moment of astonished silence. Then she advanced impulsively to him, holding out both hands. "Scruffles! It is Scruffles!" she exclaimed, with ripples of delighted laughter. " Don't tell me it isn't, because it is. And if it isn't, it would be so very awkward!" McAllister hastened to reassure her. "It is, of course it is! My dear Toto,'; he continued mendaciously. ''l knew you the moment you came in, and I -wondered if you'd know me. I was trying to screw up courage to speak to you. Heavens!" —he paused—"can it be twenty years?" " J never go into figures of that kind," laughed Lady St. Kevern, "but I should not be at all surprised. And so you remembered me?" she continued, with

an upward glance that awakened in him a rush of memories. He smiled. Toto, then, was still Toto. "Naturally, and I think" I deserve some credit, because the last time I saw you it wasn't even up." She was puzzled for a moment, but following McAllister's twinkling glance she understood. .

"Oh-h-h!" she said, j>attinj_' the waves and twists under the big hut with white, sparkling fingers. "Oh. Scruti'les, you haven't changed a bit! - ' " You always had a knack of appropriating my best remarks. 1- was about to say exactly the same to you." Lady St. Kevern laughed. "Were you? Then I. deserve your gratitude for saving you from perjury." She settled herself comfortably in a low chair. " But what on earth are you doing here? Sir John and I are always on the wing more ov less, but we've never happened to come across you." Then with a soft sigh: "I've often thought of you and wondered if we should ever run up against one another —but we never have." McAllister smiled. "'Toto, he truthful. Veracity was never your strong point. If you wish to be strictly 'honest you will confess t at once that you never have given me a thought since we said good-bye that rainy September evening " '• November,"' she interpolated. "September." he repeated. " November," she insisted. '•Toto, it's rude to contradict; make it October and have done with it. One rainy October evening-you'll agree to the rain, 1 suppose'/"' She laughed. •• 1 don't object to the rain." '• You did at the time," be remarked drily. "One (rainy October evening',, t'.ven " "Oh, not again!" she exclaimed beseechingly. '•Twenty years ago," be concluded grimly. "You always were a disagreeable, boy." said Lady St. Kevern, with a small grimace. "That was because you broke my

spirit," retorted McAllister. "1 was quite a ■nice boy till you took inc in hand. Unless my memory has vastly failed me, my papa didn't like my knowing you." "My mamma didn't think you worn at all nice," she returned with a reminiscent smile. " My- papa shipped me off to India; he said nineteen was too young to enter the holy estate of matrimony." "My mamma sent me to school in France. She said sixteen was scarcely old enough to take such an important step." "And they were quite right," said McAllister. "They were," she laughed; and then with a'sigh: "But we didn't think so at the time!" He smiled at his cigarette. "No. And I think we mentioned it

to them," "Wo did!" she returned with emphasis, and their hearty laughter startled the nearest loungers. " And I was banished," he said—there was a suspicion of insincerity in his too heavy sigh—"banished to wander desolately over the earth with your image printed on my heart." "Poor boy!" she retorted. "And I was never absent from your thoughts?" " Xever—not for one single moment—never!"

"How touching!" she sighed. Presently in a small, mocking voice: "SerufHes, how many times have you been home on. leave since those passionate days?" He was taken aback.

"Four—no, five times, I think." "And the first time? Why didn't you come to see me the first time you came home? - ' He. laughed. " You were just, married, L should ■have unsettled you."

"How thtmglitful!-and the second time?"

"Oh, the second time? Oh, well, the second time 1 was coming, but i only had three mouths in England, and I was fearfully rushed." "And the third lime—and the fourth —and the fifth? - ' continued Lady St. Keveru, pausing provokingly for reply after each question. Then her la.ught.er rang out gaily. " Oh, Scrnfflcs, how right they were! - ' " Toto," lie echoed fervently. " they were." \

Suddenly a thought struck her. "Hut, Scrufl'les, tell me. what are you doing here'/" •'Well, I'm glad to say fin coming home for good. I've finished with India and mean to acclimatise here for a bit before facing—the rigours of an English summer. And besides—-" "And besides—what';" asked l.ady St. Kevern. ■i | * 'J'Wi;

"Well, the truth is I expect 1 shall feel rather like a fish out 'of waterjust at first. Oh. of course I -iliall catch on eventually, but most of. the people I used to know are dead or married or something, so I shall |»rolialily kill time here until 1 go to Scotland." Lady St. Kilda put her hand kindly I on his arm.

"My good Scrull'lcs. don't talk like a dear, sentimental Rip Van Winkle." Then with her usual waini-lucartcd impulsiveness she continued: "Sir John and 1 go home next week. .Come with us—it will be delightful Id travel home together—and then join us; at Uislienden. Why not'; You can acclimatise in our conservatory if you like—we have acres of conservatories}" —she smiled cbarminglv—" and let a warm -welcome take the "edge off—the rigours of an English summer! You'll like Sir John. I left him talking irrigiulion with Baxter Bev; he'll probably turn up when bis coffee's thoroughly cold—not before. I know you'll like liiin; lie's really much nicer tliaii I am," she concluded, with a delightful touch of inconsequence. • '•T ca« well believe it," he replied with a twinkle. He paused fpr a moment. "Seriously, Totu, itV. awfully' good of you—da you wean

"Of course I do, Come when yon like —stay as long as you like." " Then 1 accept with pleasure. 1 shall be ch'armc to come to you at Bishenden for a few days before I join the Edingtons at Oban." Lady St. lvevcrn stared at him in amazement.

" What—Scruffles!" she gasped. "Say that again at once, slowly and distinct-

" Before I join the Edingtons at Oban," returned he obediently.

" Are you going on that yachting trip?" she cried. "The yachting trip? So arc we! What a very small place the world is, to be sure! Why, Scruffles. this is simply delightful!" Suddenly her face lighted up. "Oh, what a splendid idea!" She turned on him with shining eys. " Oh, Scruffles, you are going to be very useful to 'me, very, very useful!'' Certainly Toto was the same Toto. "Delighted lo hear it," he returned, smiling. " I've got n plot on foot, a deep, dark, mysterious plot." 'McAllister laughed outright.

"Ah, ha! i have it!. We scuttle the yacht, steal the Edington jewels, escape in the dinghy with the plunder, hoist the .lolly Roger, and sack the Spanish Main—how's that?" Hut Lady St. Kevern bad no use for such frivolity at the moment. "Oh. n», Scruffles! Oh. no, nothing of the sort. It's something quite s exciting, but quite different." Then, with immense impressiveness: "I have a young cousin." " Is it possible?" he asked gravely.

" Scruffles, do be serious. 1 mean it, and it's because of her I've plotted this plot."

"Ah! And having plotted this plot, you are hunting up accomplices. I seo. Oh, Toto, you haven't changed much." Lady St. Kevern waved him aside. "Never mind that! Now I'm going to tell you all about it. As I remarked before, I have a young cousin." McAllister sat up. " Pretty ?" he inquired. Her eyes sparkled. " You haven't changed a bit, Scruffles. Yes. She is a thoroughly pretty and thoroughly nice girl. Everything that she ought to lie, anil not much of anything. 'Oh, 1 ' she continued, willijicarti'clt sincerity, " what a comfort it is to find a girl who is not too much of anything. And that is the kind of girl who is getting rarer every day, Scruffles, the girl who is not too much of anything." "1 begin to be interested." "I knew you would be. Elinor's a perfect darling!" "Elinor!" he echoed.

"Yes; isn't it a. pretty name? And it suits her, oh, it suits her perfectly. Well, she is in love—badly in iove—very badly." He smiled. ' - "With the usual detrimental?" " Not at all," she exclaimed energetically. "That's the extraordinary part of it. Don't think it's a case of us over again, because it isn't. ,He is eligible, perfectly eligible. His age is right, his prospects are right, everything's right.;'

"Then why in the world don't they marry and have done with it?" " That's just what I say. T should if I were in her place. But Elinor says she won't come between them." 11 Between whom ?" he asked. " Between him and the Indian uncle." " The Indian uncle? Who is the Indian uncle?"

"A brute, a perfect brute!" said Lady St. Kevern with an air of finality. " Now, do you understand ?"

"I can't say I do," replied McAllister, lighting another cigarette. "(.111, Scrnffles, you're not so sharp as you used to be. You see," she rattled on, "this boy, Jack Kershaw "—.McAllister gave an involuntary start—" lias been brought up entirely by the Indian uncle, so of course lie thought he ought (o consult him before he announced his engagement, when to everybody's surprise the Indian uncle says 'No!'"

"Oh. he does, does be?" he remarked drily. " I daresay' he has got a very good reason for it." Lady St. Kevern turned suddenly to him. She had been too occupied in her story (o note the expressions of surprise, annoyance, and finally of

amusement which had successively imprinted themselves on his countenance, liy this time, however, he was able to meet her gaze with his usual air of imperturbability. "Reason!" she echoed indignantly.

'■' Of course we nil know tin- reason, tliafs the exasperating part of it. It's because of her aunt, the aunt.'' •' But surely that alone is enough—" He cheeked himself suddenly, but Lady St. Kevern noticed nothing.

" We admit the aunt is unfortunate," she said with a fine air of generosity; ■' the aunt's a fact, and has got to be faced; but Klinor wasn't born at the time, and it's perfectly monstrous to hold her responsible for what happened then—an almost forgotten scandal like that."

lie evaded the point and skilfully drew her back to the original subject. "What has all this got to do with your plot?" he asked—"your dark, deep, mysterious plot?"

He watched that well-reiuembered dimple appear, the dimple of mischievous intent.

"Well," she said, "you see the Indian uncle has been invited to join the .yacht at Oban—so has Elinor. And they don't know each other. Now do you sec ?''

"Not even the slightest glimmer," he returned provokingly. She gave a sigh of impatience. i "I understand the party consisted of the Kdingtons, Sir John and I, Elhor and the Indian uncle. Now I find yon are going to join us, which is all the better. We are going to hoodwink the Indian uncle. I've talked over the Ebingtons and .Sir John " "And Elinor V he interrogated ly"Oh, no! Elinor knows nothing about it—that's the whole point. I believe if Elinor knew she wouldn't play up to the Indian uncle a bit. She wouldn't think it right to try to influence him ; she's that sort of girl—she's a dear, but she's stupid in some things." McAllister bent forward.

""That's the best thing I've heard about her yet. I begin to like the girl.'' "It doesn't matter in the least whether you do or not," she returned casually. "The question is—will the Indian uncle like her ?'' There was a slight pause. " You've not told me the name of this Indian uncle yet," he said with a quiet smile. " I don't even know it," she relumed lightly. •■ No. I've never felt sufficient interest in him to inquire. Ills name may be- Smith—or—Tomkins—or anything for all I know. They always call him the Indian uncle, .lack's very fond of him. but I'm sure he must be a yel-low-faced, liverish old curmudgeon who's forgotten even what it feels like to le young."

McAllister struggled with his emotions for a moment before he -said soberly : ' i '*?(i3Bß " Vnu are very hard on this Indian uncle."

"Nol a hit more than lie deserves." she remarked with decision. Then, turnill!; to •>'"> with her must charming smile : "Jiut you will help us. won't you ';"

He smiled in response. "Oh. of course---anything to oblige !" "Ah, that's good of you !" she exclaimed with pretty enthusiasm. "At least you havn't forgotten what it feels like to be young." McAllister laughed outright.

"Well, I'm not so sure T hadn't, hut I fancy you are reminding me. Well go on—but slop—one iiiinutt—how do you propose to prevent each finding out who the other is ?"

"That's perfectly ,imple. "In the first place we shall only call her by her christian name Klinor. 1 daresay he's never heard ii. and if he has it is a fairly common line."

"All, yrs, 1 see. JUit he—how are von going to manage about liini ?" Lady St. Kevcvn's laugh rang out gaily.

" I've given him a nickname," she said 'confidentially; "it was entirely my idea, ji«d we all use it now. We call him the tlilded Horror. I do wish you wouldn't choke like that. Scrull'lcs: there's something wrong with that liqueur—don't drink anv more. And Elinor is such a dear, kind girl, that if we told her he is shy and awkward because of his unfortunate appearance „ '" His what V " he cried.

"'His iiufoortuuate appearance," she repeated. "(Hi. don't lie so carping. Scrufl'les. he's sine lo have an unfurlimate appearance. And if we tell her that what he really wants is someone to he kind lo him and draw him out, she will simplv devote herself to him."

"Will she V asked McAllister. The.-e was an odd note in his voice. " Ah, you don't know Klinor," she 'eItirncd.

"No. but I begin to be glad I'm going to fcaVß the opportunity."

"And if that's not enough." she con-1 turned, "we shall hint that the Gilded Horro r had an unfortunate love affair in his youth." "It seems to me there's onlv one person who's not leen considered in all this." "Whom do you mean V "The— ah—'Gilded Honor. " "Oh, good gracious, we don't bother about him. Now, all you have got to do is to keep out of the way and leave those two together." " Yes—yes !" he exclaimed in bewilderment. " Yes, of course, I see, but— * " Well, that is simple enough, surely ! "she said sharply. "Now, in the morning Elinor is rather an early riser. He is sure to got up earh—those Ang-lo-Indians have such uncomfortable, habits—oh, I beg your pardon, Scruffles, but, you know they have. Now, von and I and all the rest of us must always be late for breakfast." His face relaxed. " I think I can safclv promise you to manage that." "After breakfast we shall all dis-appear-quite by aceident-and leave Elinor alone with lii<> (iilded Horror, and so on through the day.' 1 "Your details ecrUinl'v arc marvellously complete," he put' in, " but how about the denouement V" "Wait," she 'continued carnestlv; "after some tlnve da,s of constant tete-a-tetc-tete-a-lcte in the morning | on the tore-deck, tete-a-tete in the afternoon on the poop-deck, tetc-a-tete i:i the evening on the bridge—each of us will take the (iilded Horror genllv on one side and say to him: 'lsn't Elinor ] the dearest girl you ever met?' Then the will say ' \cs!'" "Are you sure," he asked, gazing at her earnestly.

"Absolutely," said Lady St. Kevern with conviction; "then I shall arrange for one of us—probably you, Scruffles, because you look so truthful—to softly but distinctly adibray 'before Elinor the Gilded Horror by his real name." "Then the (iilded Honor will probably be furious at the trick played npom him," said McAllister, a trifle stiffly. " Oh, but there won't have, been any

trick," .said Lady St. Kevern blandly; " we shall all |iut on our most innocent ] expressions—like.this—and crowd round the (iilded JJifrroi' and say: ' You don't mean to say von didn't'know! Why, you must have known! Of course we all thought you knew all the time!' You'll have to practise that, Scruffles." "Oh, Toto, Toto," said McAllister. "As it was in the beginning " " Then we'll wire off' to Jack," she continued gaily; "-he'll come up by the next train "

"Oh, Jack's in it, is he?" he chuckled. "Oh, yes, of course, Jack's in it. Then the Gilded Horror will give them his blessing, the young people will live happily for ever after, and I will play the Wedding March on the saloon piano! Now, what do you think of my plot?" "Splendid!" he exclaimed with conviction. "A perfectly magnificent plot, convincing in its completeness and admirably worked out in every detail. 1 should he proud to help you to bring it to a successful conclusion." Lady St. Kevern hud been hailing each period with a rising crescendo of delight, when lie continued meaningly: "1 only see one little difficulty."

"Oh, what is it? I'll manage it somehow," she said light-heartedly. " Difficulties never trouble me. 1 pet over them, or I skate gracefully round them. What are you staring at me like that for, .Scruffiest It is a perfectly sple'.idid plan''—here a horrid thought danced through her brain, but she put It from her and battled on; "it's simply bound to succeed and work out—right —and—" She stopped and (sized helplessly at hi in for an instant, the thought returned and paralysed her utterance. That sarcastic twinkle—what did it mean? What hud it always meant in the old days? " You were saying ?" he said blandly. " I don't know what 1 was saying," she. returned weakly. Then, with smldeu energy: "Oh, don't be a brute, Scruff les, you know what I'm thinking! Can von be? Are you?" "The dilded Horror?" he asked cheerfully. "I am." For once JJady St. Kevern forgot to be. fascinating. "Oh-h-h!" she wailed feebly. "Have I ruined everything?" McAllister smiled the smile of the concpieror.

"On the contrary," he exclaimed magnanimously. "Tell me more about Elinor,"

And when Sir John returned an hour later to retrieve his told coffee, Lady St. Kevern hud settled to her entire satisfaction all details, even down to the names of the officiating clergy.