Then, just in the nick of time, he turned to meet the driver of the cart. There was no chance of repeating his former tactics, for the sheer weight of the latter's rush had brought him into close quarters, and the next instant they were swaying up and down clutched in each other's arms.

The
Lady from Long Acre

Victor Bridges

Author of "A Rogue by Compulsion," "The Man from Nowhere,"
"Jetsam"

Illustrated by Ray Rohn

G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1919

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I.—["Tiger" Bugg Versus "Lightning" Lopez]
II.—[The Morals of Molly]
III.—[Two Yellow-Faced Foreigners]
IV.—[Like a Fairy Story]
V.—[The Leniency of Justice]
VI.—[Pricing an Heirloom]
VII.—[Bugg's Strategy]
VIII.—[Affairs in Livadia]
IX.—[A Run-Away Queen]
X.—[The Royal Enterprise]
XI.—[The Baited Trap]
XII.—[Molly Becomes an Ally]
XIII.—[A Move by the Enemy]
XIV.—[A Disturbance in Hampstead]
XV.—[Impending Events]
XVI.—[An Artistic Forgery]
XVII.—[A Decoy Message]
XVIII.—[The Royal Pass]
XIX.—[Jimmy Dale]
XX.—[Counterplotting]
XXI.—[The Solution]
XXII.—[Getting Access to Isabel]
XXIII.—[Kidnapping the Bride]
XXIV.—[Making Sure of Isabel]

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Just in the Nick of Time he Turned to Meet the Driver of the Car] . . . . . . Frontispiece

[Tony Sent the Fellow Staggering Back to the Edge of the Pavement]

["I am so Sorry to have Kept you Waiting," Said Tony]

["And do you Mean to Say," he Remarked, "that you really Waste this on Dramatic Critics?"]

[His Gaze finally Came to Rest on the Barrel of the Mauser Pistol]

["I will Tell you the Whole Story if you Like, Aunt Fanny"]

The Lady from Long Acre

CHAPTER I
"TIGER" BUGG VERSUS "LIGHTNING" LOPEZ

Lady Jocelyn sighed gently and put down her cup on the tea-table.

"I suppose, Tony," she said, "that when one gets to seventy-two, one's conscience begins to decay just as one's body does. I seem to like good people less and immoral and useless ones more. You are the only member of the family it gives me the faintest pleasure to see nowadays."

Sir Antony Raymond Fulk Desmoleyn Conway—Conway Bart., more commonly known as Tony, nodded his head.

"They are rather a stuffy lot the others, aren't they!" he answered cheerfully. "Who's been round to see you?"

"Only Laura and Henry as yet." Lady Jocelyn spoke with some thankfulness.

"Well, that's enough," observed Tony. "Ten minutes with either of them always makes me feel I want to do something improper."

"Allowing for age and infirmity," said Lady Jocelyn, "they have a rather similar effect on me."

Tony laughed. "So you have heard all about my misdeeds?"

"I would hardly go as far as that. They were only here for two hours. You may smoke you know, Tony, if you want to."

He lighted a cigarette. "Tell me, Aunt Fanny," he pleaded. "There is no pleasure in blackening the family name unless one hears what the family says about it."

"The family," remarked Lady Jocelyn, "has a good deal to say about it. They consider that not only are you wasting your own life in the most deplorable manner, but that your methods of amusing yourself are calculated to bring a certain amount of discredit upon your more distinguished relatives. Henry attributes it chiefly to the demoralizing effect of wealth; Laura thinks that you were born with naturally low tastes."

"They're both right," observed Tony placidly. "I am what Guy calls 'a menace to my order.' That's a jolly way for one's secretary to talk to one, isn't it?"

"It's the only way dear Guy can talk, and after all I daresay he is telling the truth."

"I am sure he is," said Tony. "Guy is quite incapable of telling anything else." He paused. "Was Henry referring to any recent atrocity?"

"I think your choice of friends is what distresses him chiefly. He said that your more intimate acquaintances appear to consist of prize-fighters and chauffeurs."

Tony laughed good-humouredly. "I do a bit of motor racing, you know. I suppose that's what he meant by chauffeurs. As for prize-fighters—well, somebody must have been telling him about Bugg."

"About what?" inquired Lady Jocelyn mildly.

"Bugg," repeated Tony. "'Tiger' Bugg. He's a youthful protégé of mine—a boxer. In about three years, when he's grown a bit, he'll be champion of England."

Lady Jocelyn's good-humoured face wrinkled up into a whimsical smile.

"Dear Tony," she said. "Your conversation is always so stimulating. Tell me some more about Mr. Tiger Bugg. What a name! It sounds like some kind of American butterfly."

"Oh, he spells it with two g's," said Tony. "It's a very good name in the East End of London. There have been Buggs in Whitechapel for generations."

"So I have always understood," replied Lady Jocelyn. "How did you come across this particular branch of the family?"

"It was at a boxing club off the Stepney High Street. It's a blackguard sort of place run by a Jew named Isaacs. He gets in the East End street boys, and they fight each other for nothing in the hope that some boxing promoter will see them and give them a chance. Well, one night when I was there they put up this boy Bugg against a fellow who was big enough to eat him—a chap who knew something about the game, too. Bugg was hammered nearly silly in the first round, but he came up for the second and popped in a left hook bang on the point that put the big chap to sleep for almost ten minutes. It was one of the prettiest things I've ever seen."

"It sounds delightful," said Lady Jocelyn. "Go on, Tony."

"I was so pleased with his pluck," pursued the baronet tranquilly, "that I sent for him after the show and took him out to have some supper. I thought he was precious hungry from the way he wolfed his food, and when I asked him I found he'd had nothing to eat all day except a bit of dry bread for breakfast. In addition to that he had tramped about ten miles looking for a job. Hardly what one would call a good preparation for fighting a fellow twice your size."

"It seems a most deserving case," remarked Lady Jocelyn sympathetically.

"That's what I thought," said Tony. "I had him up to Hampstead the next day and I gave him a good try out with the gloves. I saw at once that I'd got hold of something quite out of the common. He didn't know much about the science of the game, but he was just a born boxer—one of those boys who take to fighting as naturally as they do to breathing. He seemed a decent lad too in his way—a bit rough, of course, but then you couldn't expect anything else. Anyhow the end of it was I took him on, and he has been with me ever since."

"How nice!" said Lady Jocelyn. "And in what capacity does he figure in the household returns?"

Tony indulged in a smile. "I always call him my assistant secretary," he said, "just to fetch old Guy. As a matter of fact Bugg is a most useful chap. There's hardly anything he can't do. When he isn't training for a fight, we use him as a sort of maid-of-all-work."

"Oh, he still fights then?"

"Rather," said Tony. "He has never been beaten yet. Backing Bugg is my only source of income apart from the estate. I made twelve hundred pounds out of him last year."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Lady Jocelyn. "I had no idea you had a regular profession like that, Tony. What sort of people does he fight with?"

"We are open to meet any one in the world up to ten stone seven. In fact there are only about four who really matter that he hasn't met. There will be one less after to-morrow."

"What happens to-morrow?"

"Bugg is going to fight 'Lightning Lopez' at the Cosmopolitan."

"What beautiful names all these people seem to have," said Lady Jocelyn. "Who is 'Lightning Lopez'?"

"He calls himself the champion welter-weight of Europe," replied Tony a little contemptuously. "He's half an American and half a Livadian. That's why Pedro has taken him up."

"Pedro?" repeated Lady Jocelyn. "Do you mean King Pedro?"

Tony nodded. "Yes, Lopez is being backed by royalty or rather ex-royalty. We hope to have five hundred of the best out of His Majesty by to-morrow night."

"Are you a friend of Pedro's?" asked Lady Jocelyn.

"Oh, hardly that," said Tony. "He belongs to the Cosmo, you know, and I often meet him at races and first nights."

Lady Jocelyn paused for a moment.

"I remember him very well as a little boy at Portriga before the revolution," she said. "What has he grown up like?"

"Well," observed Tony, thoughtfully brushing some cigarette ash from his sleeve, "he's short and fat and dark and rather spotty, and he drinks too much."

Lady Jocelyn nodded. "Ah!" she said, "just like his poor father. Has he inherited the family weakness for female society?"

"He's a bit of a rip," said Tony. "Or rather he was. Molly Monk of the Gaiety has got hold of him now, and I think she keeps him pretty straight. She's not the sort to stand any nonsense, you know."

"I will take your word for it, Tony," said Lady Jocelyn gravely.

Tony laughed. "Well, you can, Aunt Fanny," he returned. "I've known Molly since she was a little flapper. She is the granddaughter of old Monk who used to look after the lodge at Holbeck."

Lady Jocelyn raised her eyebrows. "Dear me!" she exclaimed. "Is that so, Tony! Why I remember the old man perfectly. She must be a clever girl to have got on like she has. What a pity she couldn't be content with her profession."

"Oh, Molly's all right," said Tony carelessly. "She's straight enough as girls of that sort go. You can be quite sure she's really fond of Pedro or she wouldn't have anything to do with him."

"He didn't sound exactly lovable from your description of him," remarked Lady Jocelyn.

"Well, perhaps I didn't do him justice. He isn't such a bad fellow in his way, you know. He drinks too much and he's stupid and spoilt, but he's quite good-natured and amiable with it. I have no doubt Molly can twist him round her finger; and I suppose there's a certain attraction in having a king trotting around after you—even if he is out of a job. No doubt it annoys the other girls."

"As a bachelor, my dear boy," said Lady Jocelyn, "you have no right to be so well acquainted with feminine weaknesses." She paused. "You know you really ought to get married, Tony," she added, "if only to circulate your income."

Tony laughed. "You have hit on my one strong point as a capitalist," he said. "You ask Guy, Aunt Fanny!"

"But you can't spend forty thousand a year by yourself—surely?"

"Oh, I get a little help now and then. I don't know that I really want it though. It's wonderful what one can do with practice and a steam yacht."

"It's not nearly as wonderful as what you could do with a wife," said Lady Jocelyn. "Anyhow you ought to get married if only to please me. I shall soon be too old for travelling about, and then I shall want some really naughty children to give me an interest in life. I shall never be interested in Henry's twins: they are such dreadful little prigs."

Tony got up from his chair and taking the old lady's slender, much beringed hand raised it to his lips.

"If you feel like that, Aunt Fanny," he said, "I shall certainly have to think about it. You won't mind who she is, I suppose?"

"I only make two stipulations," said Lady Jocelyn. "She mustn't be a German and she mustn't wear squeaky boots."

Tony laughed. "All right, Aunt Fanny," he said. "I can promise you that safely."

He walked to the window and glanced down into Chester Square where a huge venomous-looking, two-seated Peugot was filling up the roadway.

"I must toddle away now," he observed. "I want to run up to the Club, and see that everything's all right for to-morrow night, and then I must get back home and change. I have promised to go to this fancy dress dance at the Albert Hall, and it will take me a long time to look like Charles the Second."

Lady Jocelyn leaned forward and rang the bell. "Come and see me again some day, Tony," she said, "when you have nothing better to do. I shall be home till the end of July, at all events."

Tony bent down and kissed her affectionately. "I shall often be dropping in if I may," he said. "I am always in scrapes you know, Aunt Fanny, and you are about the only person I can look to for a little sympathy and encouragement."

"If my moral support is of any use, Tony," she said, "you can count on it to the utmost."

Outside the house a small crowd of loafers and errand boys had gathered round the car, which with its enormous strapped bonnet and disk wheels looked singularly out of place in this trim, respectable neighbourhood.

"Wotyer call that, guv'nor?" inquired one of them. "A cycle car?"

"It's the new Baby Peugot," replied Tony gravely.

He started up the engine, and climbing into the seat, disappeared round the corner, followed by the admiring glances of his audience.

The Cosmopolitan Club, the headquarters of British pugilism, is situated in Covent Garden. It is regarded by some excellent people as a plague spot that will eventually be wiped away by the rising flood of a more humanized civilization, but this opinion can hardly be said to represent the views of the porter and carmen who frequent the vicinity. To them the Club represents all that is best and brightest in English civilization, and amongst its numerous and oddly assorted members nobody could claim to be better known or more popular than Tony.

As the big car picked its way over the cobbles, twisting neatly in and out between unattended carts and piles of empty baskets, a good number of the men who were lounging about greeted the owner with a friendly salute. When he reached the Club and pulled up, several of them stepped forward eagerly to open the door.

"'Ow abaht ter-morrer, sir," inquired one huge, hoarse-voiced carter. "Sife to shove a bit on Tiger?"

"You can shove your horse and cart on him," said Tony, "and if it doesn't come off I'll buy you another."

He jumped out and crossed the pavement, followed by an approving murmur from everyone who had heard his offer.

The carter spat decisively into the gutter. "E's a ruddy nobleman, 'e is," he observed, looking round the group with a bloodshot eye. "'Oo says 'e ain't?"

No one ventured on such a rash assertion; indeed, putting aside the carter's discouraging air, everyone present considered Tony's offer to be the very acme of aristocratic behaviour.

The creator of this favourable impression pushed open the swinging door of the Club and, accepting a couple of letters from the hotel porter, walked through into the comfortably furnished bar lounge at the back. Its two inhabitants, who were each in the act of consuming a cocktail, glanced round at his entrance. One was "Doggy" Donaldson, the manager, a burly, genial-looking, bullet-headed individual with close-cropped grey hair, and a permanently unlit cigar jutting up rakishly out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hello, Tony," he exclaimed. "You're just in time to join us. You know the Marquis da Freitas, of course?"

Tony nodded easily, and Donaldson's companion, a stout, dark-complexioned, well-dressed man of about fifty with a certain air of distinction about him, returned the greeting with a courteous wave of his hand.

"We meet as enemies, Sir Antony," he remarked smilingly.

"Well, I just dropped in for a second to see that everything was all right about to-morrow," said Tony. "Our boy is in fine form: never been fitter. I hope you have been equally lucky?"

The Marquis indulged in the faintest possible shrug of his broad shoulders. "I believe so," he said. "I am not a great authority on these matters myself, but they amuse His Majesty."

"Everything's O.K.," observed the manager in a satisfied voice. "We sold the last seat this morning, and there have been several applications since. It's going to be the best night of the season. You will see your boy turns up in good time, won't you?"

Tony helped himself to the cocktail, which the barman, without asking any superfluous questions, had been quietly preparing for him.

"Right you are," he said, drinking it off. "What's the betting, Doggy?"

"Martin-Smith told me this morning he'd got a level hundred on Lopez."

Tony put down the empty glass. "Ah well," he said, "he can afford to lose it."

There was a short pause.

"You seem confident, Sir Antony," remarked the Marquis in his suave voice. "Perhaps you would like to back your opinion a little further. I don't know much about this sort of thing, as I said just now, but I am prepared to support our man if only from patriotic motives."

"Anything you care to suggest, Marquis," said Tony indifferently.

"Shall we say a couple of hundred, then?"

Tony nodded, and booked the bet on his shirt cuff.

"I must be off now," he said. "I suppose you and the King will be at the Albert Hall to-night?"

The Marquis shook his head. "I do not think His Majesty intends to be present. As for me—" he again shrugged his shoulders—"I grow old for such frivolities."

"Well, till to-morrow then," said Tony.

He passed out again through the hall, and jumping into the car steered his way slowly round the corner into Long Acre, where he branched off in the direction of Piccadilly. He was just passing Garnett's, the celebrated theatrical costumier, when the door of that eminent establishment swung open, and a very pretty and smartly dressed girl stepped out on to the pavement. Directly Tony saw her he checked the car and turned it gently in towards the gutter.

She came up to him with a most attractive smile.

"But how convenient, Tony," she exclaimed. "You will be able to drive me home. I was just going to waste my money on a taxi."

He leaned across and opened the door. "You can give me the bob instead, Molly," he said. "Jump in."

She stepped up alongside of him, and with a harsh croak the big car glided forward again into the thronging bustle of Leicester Square.

"Funny picking you up like this," he said. "I've just been talking about you."

"I'm always being talked about," replied Molly serenely. "I hope you weren't as nasty as most people."

"I was saying that you were the only girl in London with that particular shade of red hair." Tony brought out this shameless untruth with the utmost coolness.

"It is rather nice, isn't it?" said Molly. "All the girls think I touch it up. As a matter of fact it's one of the few parts of me I don't." She paused. "What were you really saying about me, Tony?"

"Oh, quite nice things," he replied. "Can you fancy me saying anything else?"

"No," she said. "I'll admit you're an amiable beast as men go. But why haven't you been to see me lately?"

Grasping his opportunity Tony darted across the bows of an onrushing motor-bus, and gained the comparative shelter of Regent Street.

"If it is a fact," he observed, "I can only attribute it to idiocy."

"You know it's a fact," said Molly, "and it's hurt me, Tony. I wouldn't mind being chucked by any one else. But somehow you're different. I have always looked on you as a pal."

Tony slipped his left hand off the wheel for a second and lightly squeezed hers.

"So I am, Molly," he said. "Why on earth should I have changed?"

"I thought you might be sick with me about—well, about Peter."

"Good Lord, no," said Tony. "I never criticize my friends' hobbies. If I haven't routed you out lately, it's only because I've been really busy."

Her face brightened. "You're a nice old thing, Tony," she said. "Come and lunch with me to-morrow if you're not booked up. Just us two. I really do want to have a talk with you, badly."

"Right-o," said Tony. "You'll be able to give me the latest stable information about Lopez. It's the fight to-morrow night, you know."

Molly nodded. "Peter thinks he's going to win all right," she said. "He's cocksure about it."

"I gathered that," said Tony. "I ran into da Freitas at the Club just now and he bet me a level two hundred we were in for a whipping. I shouldn't think he was a gentleman who chucked away his money out of patriotic sentiment."

Molly made as near an approach to an ugly face as nature would allow.

"You don't like him?" inquired Tony artlessly.

"He's a pig," said Molly, and then after a short pause she added with some reluctance, "but he's a clever pig."

"That," observed Tony, "only aggravates the offence."

He pulled up at Basil Mansions, a big block of luxurious flats just opposite the Langham Hotel, and a magnificently gilded porter hastened forward to open the door of the car.

"I'll tell you about him to-morrow," said Molly. "Don't be later than half-past one. I'm always starving by then, and I shan't wait for you."

"I am always punctual for meals," said Tony. "It's the only virtue that's rewarded on the spot."

CHAPTER II
THE MORALS OF MOLLY

It was exactly eleven o'clock when Tony woke up. He looked at his watch, yawned, stretched himself, ran his fingers through his hair, and then reaching out his hand pressed the electric bell beside his bed. After a short pause it was answered by a middle-aged, clean-shaven man, with a face like a tired sphinx, who entered the room carrying a cup of tea upon a tray. Tony sat up and blinked at him.

"Good-morning, Spalding," he observed.

"Good-morning, Sir Antony," returned the man; "I trust that you slept well, sir?"

"Very well, thank you," replied Tony. "What time did I get home?"

"I fancy it was a little after four, sir."

Tony took a long drink out of the tea-cup, and then put it down again. "I am curiously thirsty this morning, Spalding," he said. "Was I quite sober when I came back?"

The man hesitated. "I should describe you as being so, sir," he replied.

"Thank you, Spalding," said Tony gratefully.

Crossing the room the valet drew up the blinds, and admitted a cheerful stream of sunshine.

"Mr. Oliver left a message, sir, to say that he would not be back until the afternoon. He has gone out on business and is lunching with Mr. Henry Conway."

"Where's Bugg?" inquired Tony.

"At the present moment, sir, I believe he is in the gymnasium. He informed me that he was about to loosen his muscles with a little shadow boxing."

"Is he all right?"

"He appears to be in the most robust health, sir."

A look of relief passed across Tony's face. "You have taken a weight off my mind, Spalding," he said. "I dreamed that he had broken his neck."

The valet shook his head reassuringly.

"I observed no sign of it, sir, when I passed him in the hall."

"In that case," said Tony, "I think I shall get up. You can fill the bath, Spalding, and you can tell the cook I shan't want any breakfast."

The impassive servant bowed and withdrew from the room, and after finishing his tea, Tony got luxuriously out of bed, and proceeded to drape himself in a blue silk dressing-gown with gold dragons embroidered round the hem. It was a handsome garment originally intended for the President of China, but that gentleman had unexpectedly rejected it on the ground that it was too ornate for the elected head of a democratic community. At least that was how the Bond Street shopman who had sold it to Tony had accounted for its excessive price.

Lighting a cigarette, Tony sauntered across to the bathroom, where a shave, a cold tub, and a few minutes of Muller's exercises were sufficient to remove the slight trace of lassitude induced by his impersonation of Charles the Second. Then, still clad in his dressing-gown, he strolled down the main staircase, and opening the front door passed out into the garden.

The house was one of those two or three jolly old-fashioned survivals which still stand in their own grounds in the neighbourhood of Jack Straw's Castle. Tony had bought up the freehold several years previously, the quaint old Georgian residence in its delightful surroundings appealing to him far more than his own gloomy family mansion in Belgrave Square. As he himself was fond of explaining, it gave one all the charm of living in the country without any of its temptations to virtue.

A few yards' walk along a gravel path, hedged in on each side by thick laurel bushes, brought him to the gymnasium. The door was slightly open, and from the quick patter and shuffle of footsteps inside, it sounded as if a number of ballet girls were practising a novel and rather complicated form of step dance.

The spectacle that actually met Tony's eyes when he entered, however, was of a less seductive nature. Clad only in a pair of flannel trousers, a young man was spinning and darting about the room in the most extraordinary fashion, indulging at the same time in lightning-like movements with his head and arms. To the uninitiated observer he would have appeared to be either qualifying for a lunatic asylum or else attempting the difficult feat of catching flies on the wing. As a matter of fact either assumption would have been equally inaccurate. He was engaged in what is known amongst pugilists as "shadow boxing" which consists of conducting an animated contest with a vicious but imaginary opponent.

On seeing Tony the young man in question came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room, and raised his forefinger to his close-cropped forehead.

"Mornin', Sir Ant'ny," he observed.

Notwithstanding his exertions he spoke without the least trace of breathlessness, and there was no sign of perspiration upon his clean white skin. He looked what he was—a splendidly built lad of about nineteen, trained to the last pitch of physical fitness.

Tony glanced him over with an approving eye. "Good-morning, Bugg," he answered. "I am glad to see you looking so well. I dreamed you had broken your neck."

The lad grinned cheerfully. "Not me, sir. Never felt better in me life. Must 'a bin the other bloke."

"I hope not," said Tony anxiously. "I backed you for another two-fifty yesterday, and I can't very well claim the money unless the fight comes off. By the way, a hundred of that goes on to the purse if you do the trick all right."

The young prize-fighter looked a trifle embarrassed. "There ain't no call for that, sir—thankin' ye kindly all the saime, sir. I'd knock out 'alf a dozen blokes like Lopez for a purse o' three 'undred."

"Your unmercenary nature is one of your chief charms, Bugg," said Tony. "All the same you mustn't carry it to extremes. How much money have you got in the bank now?"

Bugg scratched his ear. "The last time I goes in, sir, the old geezer with the whiskers says somethin' abaht a matter of eleven 'undred quid."

"Well, by to-morrow you ought to have fifteen hundred. In other words, Bugg, you will be a capitalist—one of the idle rich. That money, properly invested, will bring you in thirty shillings a week. If you want to set up as an independent gentleman now's the time to begin."

A sudden look of surprised dismay spread itself across Bugg's square-jawed face.

"Meanin' I got the chuck, sir?" he inquired dully.

Tony laughed. "Of course not," he said. "Don't be an ass, Bugg. I was only pointing out to you that if you like to set up on your own you can afford to do it. I'll go on backing you as long as you want me to, but you needn't feel bound to stop on here if you'd rather clear out. It's not much of a job for a budding champion of England with fifteen hundred pounds in the bank."

Bugg gave an audible sigh of relief.

"I thought you was 'andin' me the bird, sir," he observed. "Give me a proper turn it did, jest for the minit."

"Then you don't want to go?"

Bugg laughed, almost contemptuously.

"Where'd I go to, sir?" he demanded. "'Ow long would that fifteen 'undred last if I was knockin' arahnd on me own with every flash cove in London 'avin' a cut at it? 'Sides, that, sir, I don't want nothin' different. I wouldn't change the job I got, not to be King of England. If it weren't for you I'd be 'awkin' welks now, or fightin' in a booth, an' Tiger Bugg ain't the sort to forget a thing like that. Wen you don't want me no more, sir, jest you tip me the orfice straight and proper and I'll 'op it, but so long as there's any bloomin' thing I can do for you, sir, well, 'ere I am and 'ere I means to stop."

It was the longest speech that Tiger Bugg had ever indulged in, and certainly the most eloquent. Tony, who was genuinely touched by the obvious sincerity with which it was uttered, stepped forward and patted the lad on his shoulder.

"That's all right, Tiger," he said. "There will always be a job for you here if it's only to annoy my relations." He paused and lighted himself another cigarette. "Give us a bit of your best to-night," he added. "I should like to make Da Freitas look silly, and if you win easily, Donaldson has practically promised me a match for the Lonsdale Belt."

Bugg's eyes gleamed, and his hands automatically clenched themselves.

"I'll slip one over the fust chance I get, sir," he observed earnestly. "I don't think I'll 'ave to wait long either."

Tony nodded, and gathering up his dressing-gown, turned towards the door.

"Well, be ready by eight o'clock," he said, "and we'll go down together in the car."

Leaving the gymnasium he strolled on up the path till it curved round the corner and opened out into an asphalt yard, where a man in blue overalls was attending to the toilet of the big Peugot. He was a tall, red-haired individual with an expression of incurable melancholy on his face.

"Good-morning, Jennings," said Tony. "It's a nice morning, isn't it?"

The chauffeur cast a resentful glance at the unclouded blue overhead.

"It's all right at present, sir," he admitted grudgingly, "but these here extra fine mornings have a way of turning off sudden."

Tony sauntered up to the car, and lifting the bonnet looked down into the gleaming network of copper and brass which bore eloquent testimony to the care and energy expended on it.

"I didn't think she was pulling quite at her best yesterday," he said. "You might have a run through and tune her up a bit, when you've got time."

The chauffeur nodded. "Once these here big racin' engines begin to give trouble, sir," he remarked with a sort of gloomy relish, "they ain't never the same again—not in a manner o' speaking. Least, that's how it seems to me."

"That's how it would seem to you, Jennings," said Tony kindly. "Is the Suiza all right?"

"She'll run, sir."

"Well, have her ready about one o'clock, and I shall want you and the Rolls-Royce at eight to-night, to take us down to the Club." He paused. "I suppose you have backed Bugg?" he added.

Jennings shook his head. "Not me, sir. I think he's flying too high, sir. From all they tell me this here Lopez is a terror. I'll be sorry to see Bugg knocked out, but there it is; it comes to all of 'em in time."

"I like talking to you after breakfast, Jennings," said Tony. "You cheer one up for the entire day."

Jennings received the compliment with an utterly unmoved expression. "I don't take much stock in bein' cheerful meself, sir," he observed, "not unless there's something to be cheerful about."

He stepped forward and resumed his work on the car, and after watching him for a moment or two with a pleasant languid interest Tony turned round and sauntered back to the house.

He finished his toilet in a leisurely fashion, and then spent an agreeable half-hour over the Sportsman, which was the only morning paper that he took in. Current affairs of a more general nature did not interest him much, though in times of national or political crisis it was his habit to borrow the Daily Mail from Spalding.

Soon after one, Jennings brought the Suiza round to the front door, and a quarter of an hour later Tony turned in through the gateway of Basil Mansions and drew up alongside the rockery and fountain with which a romantic landlord had enriched the centre of the courtyard.

Leaving the car there, he strolled across to Molly's flat and rang the bell. It was answered almost at once by a neatly dressed French maid, who conducted him into a bright and daintily furnished room where Molly was sitting at the piano practising a new song. She jumped up gaily directly she saw him.

"Oh, how nice of you, Tony," she exclaimed. "You are ten minutes early and I'm fearfully hungry. Lunch as soon as it's ready, Claudine."

She gave Tony her hand which he raised gallantly to his lips.

"You are looking very beautiful this morning, Molly," he said. "You remind me of one of those things that come out of ponds."

"What do you mean?" asked Molly. "Frogs?"

"No," said Tony, "not frogs. Those sort of jolly wet girls with nothing on; what do you call them—naiads, isn't it?"

Molly burst into a ripple of laughter. "I don't think that's much of a compliment to my frock, Tony," she said. "It was specially designed for me by Jay's too! Don't you like it?"

Tony stepped back and inspected her critically.

"It's wonderful," he said. "I should imagine Mr. Jay was now prostrate with nervous exhaustion."

"Oh, well," replied Molly comfortingly, "he'll have heaps of time to recover before he's paid."

The clear note of a silver gong sounded from the passage and she thrust her arm through Tony's.

"Come along," she said, "there are roast quails and it would be awful if they got cold, wouldn't it?"

Tony gave a slight shudder. "There are some tragedies," he said, "that one hardly likes to think about."

All through lunch, which was daintily served in Molly's pretty, sunny little dining-room, they chatted away in the easy cheerful fashion of two people who have no illusions about each other and are yet the firmest of friends. The lunch itself was excellent, and Claudine waited on them with a graceful skill that lent an additional harmony to its progress.

"I think I am in love with your new maid," observed Tony thoughtfully, when she at length left them to their coffee and cigarettes.

"I am glad you approve of her," said Molly, "but if you haven't seen her before it only shows how disgustingly you must have treated me. She has been here since Christmas."

"I like her face," pursued Tony. "It's so pure. She looks as if she had been turned out of a convent for being too good."

"She isn't good," said Molly. "Don't you think it."

"That only makes her all the more wonderful," said Tony. "To look good and to be wicked is the ideal combination. You get the benefits of both without any of their drawbacks."

"In that case," observed Molly, "I must be dead out of luck. With my red hair and red lips I look desperately wicked, while as a matter of fact I'm quite uninterestingly good—by instinct." She paused. "I want to talk to you about my morals, Tony. That has been one of the chief reasons why I asked you to lunch."

Tony poured out a glass of liqueur brandy. "The morals of Molly," he remarked contentedly. "I can't imagine a more perfect subject for an after-lunch discussion."

Molly lit herself a cigarette and passed him across the little silver box. "It's not so much a discussion as an explanation," she said. "I want to explain Peter." She sat back in her chair. "You see, Tony, you're the only person in the world whose opinion I care a hang for. If it hadn't been for you I don't know what would have happened to me after I ran away from home. You helped me to get on the stage, and I don't want you to think I've turned out an absolute rotter. Oh, I know people have always said horrid things about me, but then they do that about any girl in musical comedy. I believe I'm supposed to have lived with a Rajah and had a black baby, and Lord knows what else, but as a matter of fact it's all lies and invention. People talk like that just to appear more in the swim than somebody else. Of course I don't mean to say I haven't had lots of kind offers of that sort, but until Peter came along I'd said 'no' to all of them."

"What made you pitch on Peter?" asked Tony.

"I don't know," said Molly frankly. "I think I was sorry for him to start with. He's so stupid you know—any one can take him in, and that little cat Marie d'Estelle was getting thousands out of him and carrying on all the time with half a dozen other men. So I thought I'd just take him away if only to teach her common decency."

"If rumour is correct," observed Tony, "the lesson was not entirely successful."

Molly laughed. "Well, that was how the thing started anyway," she said. "Peter got awfully keen on me, and after I had seen a little bit of him and snubbed him rather badly once or twice for being too affectionate, I really began to get quite fond of him. You see if he wasn't a king he'd be a jolly good sort. There's nothing really the matter with him except that he's been horribly spoilt. He isn't a bit vicious naturally; he only thought he was until he met me. He is weak and stupid, of course, but then I like a man not to be too clever if I am going to have much to do with him. Stupid men stick to you, and you can make them do just what you want. You know Peter consults me about practically everything."

"And what does Da Freitas think of the situation?" asked Tony mildly.

"Oh, Da Freitas!" Molly's expression was an answer in itself. "He hates me, Tony; he can't stand any one having an influence over Peter except himself. He didn't mind d'Estelle and people like that, in spite of the money they cost, but he would give anything to get rid of me. He likes Peter to be weak and dissipated and not to bother about things, because then he has all the power in his own hands."

"But how is all this going to end, Molly?" asked Tony. "Suppose there's another revolution in Livadia, and Peter, as you call him, has to go back to be King. It's quite on the cards according to what one hears."

"Oh, I know," said Molly, shrugging her shoulders, "but what's the good of worrying? If they knew Peter as well as I do they wouldn't be so stupid. He'd be no earthly use as a king, by himself, and he'd look too absolutely silly for words with a crown on his head. As far as his own private tastes go, he's a lot happier at Richmond. He quite sees it too, you know, when I point it out to him, but he says he wouldn't be able to help himself if there really was a revolution."

"No," said Tony. "I imagine Da Freitas would see to that. It will be a precious cold day when he gets left. He hasn't schemed and plotted and kept in with Pedro all this time in order to let the chance slip when it comes along. If he isn't back there one day in his old job of Prime Minister, it won't be the fault of the Marquis Fernando."

Molly looked pensively into the fire. "He only makes one mistake," she said. "He's a little too apt to think other people are more stupid than they are. I suppose it comes from associating so much with poor old Peter."

CHAPTER III
TWO YELLOW-FACED FOREIGNERS

Very carefully Tony sprinkled a little Bengal pepper over the perfectly grilled sole which Spalding had set down in front of him. Then he returned the bottle to the cruet-stand and looked across the table at his cousin.

"You really ought to come to-night, Guy," he said. "It will be a beautiful fight while it lasts."

Guy Oliver shook his head. He was a tall, rather gaunt young man with a pleasant but too serious expression. "My dear Tony," he replied, "my tastes may be peculiar, but as I have told you before, it really gives me no pleasure to watch two lads striking each other violently about the face and body."

"You were always hard to please," complained Tony sadly. "Fighting is one of the few natural and healthy occupations left to humanity."

Guy adjusted his glasses. "I am not criticizing fighting in its proper place," he said. "I think there are times when it may be necessary and even enjoyable. All I do object to is regarding it as a pastime. There are some things in life that we are not meant to make a popular spectacle out of. What would you say if someone suggested paying people to make love to each other on public platforms?"

"I should say it would be most exciting," said Tony. "Especially the heavy-weight championship." He poured himself out half a glass of sherry and held it up to the light. "Talking of heavy-weights," he added, "how did you find our dear Cousin Henry?"

"Henry was very well," said Guy. "He is coming to see you."

Tony put down his glass and surveyed his cousin reproachfully. "And you call yourself a secretary and a friend?" he remarked.

"I think it is very good for you to entertain Cousin Henry occasionally," returned Guy. "He is an excellent antidote to the Cosmopolitan Club and Brooklands." He paused. "Besides, he has a suggestion to make with which I am thoroughly in sympathy."

A depressed expression flitted across Tony's face. "I am sure it has something to do with my duty," he said.

Guy nodded. "I wish you would try and look on it in that light. Henry has put himself to a lot of trouble about it, and he will be very hurt if you don't take it seriously."

"My dear Guy!" said Tony. "A proposal of Henry's with which you are in sympathy couldn't possibly be taken any other way. What is it?"

"He has set his heart on your going into Parliament as you know. Well, he told me that last week he had spoken about you to the Chief Whip, and that they are arranging for you to stand as Government candidate for Balham North at the next general election."

There was a long pause.

"For where?" inquired Tony faintly.

"For Balham North. It's a large constituency in South London close to Upper Tooting."

"It would be," said Tony. "And may I ask what I have done to deserve this horrible fate?"

"That's just it," said Guy. "You haven't done anything. Henry feels—indeed we all feel that as head of the family it is quite time you made a start."

"You don't understand," said Tony with some dignity. "I am sowing my wild oats. It is what every wealthy young baronet is expected to do."

"Leaving out the war," retorted Guy, "you have been sowing them for exactly six years and nine months."

Tony smiled contentedly. "I always think," he observed, "that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well."

There was another pause, while Guy, crumbling a bit of bread between his fingers, regarded his cousin with a thoughtful scrutiny.

"As far as I can see, Tony," he said, "there is only one thing that's the least likely to do you any good. You want a complete change in your life—something that will wake you up to a sense of duty and responsibility. I think you ought to get married."

Tony, who was helping himself to a glass of champagne, paused abruptly in the middle of that engaging occupation.

"How remarkable!" he exclaimed. "Only yesterday Aunt Fanny made exactly the same suggestion. It must be something in the spring air."

"I don't always agree with Aunt Fanny," said Guy, "but I think that for once in a way she was giving you excellent advice. A good wife would make a tremendous difference in your life."

"Tremendous!" assented Tony with a shudder. "I should probably have to give up smoking in bed and come down to breakfast every morning."

"You would be all the better for it," said Guy firmly. "I was thinking, however, more of your general outlook on things. Marriage with the right woman might make you realize that your position carries with it certain duties that you ought to regard both as a privilege and a pleasure."

"Is going into Parliament one of them?" asked Tony.

"Certainly. As a large landowner you are just the type of man who is badly wanted in the House of Commons."

"They must be devilish hard up for legislators," said Tony. "Still, if you and Henry have made up your minds, I expect I shall have to do it." He paused. "I don't think I should like to be the member for Balham North though," he added reflectively. "It sounds like the sort of place where a chorus girl's mother would live."

Any defence of the constituency which Guy may have had to offer was cut short by the re-entrance of Spalding.

"The car is at the door, sir," he observed.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?" inquired Guy, as Tony pushed back his chair.

The latter shook his head. "I never eat much before a fight," he said. "It prevents my getting properly excited." He got up from his seat. "Besides," he added, "I always take Bugg round to Shepherd's after he has knocked out his man, and we celebrate the victory with stout and oysters. It's Bugg's idea of Heaven."

He passed out into the hall where Spalding helped him on with his coat. Outside the front door stood a beautifully appointed Rolls-Royce limousine, painted the colour of silver and upholstered in grey Bedford cord. Jennings was at the wheel and inside sat Tiger Bugg and a large red-faced man with little twinkling black eyes. This latter was Mr. "Blink" McFarland, the celebrated proprietor of the Hampstead Heath Gymnasium, who acted as Tiger's trainer and sparring partner. They both touched their caps as Tony appeared.

"I wouldn't let 'im get out, sir," observed McFarland in a gruff voice. "Might 'a took a chill hangin' around."

"Quite right, Blink," replied Tony gravely. "Lopez isn't to be sneezed at even by a future champion."

He lit himself a cigarette, and stepping inside closed the door behind him. Spalding made a signal to Jennings and the big car slid off noiselessly down the drive.

Tony turned to Bugg. "Feeling all right?" he inquired.

The young prize-fighter grinned amiably. "Fine, sir, thank ye, sir."

With an affectionate gesture, McFarland laid an enormous mottled hand on his charge's knee. "He's fit to jump out of 'is skin, sir; you take it from me. If he don't knock two sorts of blue 'ell out of that dirty faced dago I'll give up trainin' fighters and start keepin' rabbits."

"Lopez is supposed to have a bit of a punch himself, isn't he?" inquired Tony.

McFarland made a hoarse rumbling noise which was presumably intended for a laugh.

"All the better for us, sir. The harder 'e hits the more 'e'll hurt hisself. It's a forlorn jog punchin' Tiger. You might as well kick a pavin' stone."

Bugg, who was evidently susceptible to compliments, blushed like a schoolgirl, and then to cover his confusion turned an embarrassed gaze out of the window. The long descent of Haverstock Hill was flying past at a rare pace, for whatever might be Jenning's shortcomings as a cheerful companion he could certainly drive a car. Indeed it could scarcely have been more than ten minutes from the moment they left the Heath, until, with a loud blast from the horn, they glided round the corner of the street into Covent Garden.

The pavement and roadway in front of the Cosmopolitan were filled by the usual rough-looking crowd that invariably congregates outside the Club on the occasion of a big fight. With surprising swiftness, however, a space was cleared for Tony's car, and as its three occupants stepped out, a hoarse excited buzz of "That's 'im! that's Tiger!" rose up all round them.

Bugg and McFarland hurried through into the Club; Tony stopping behind for a moment to give some directions to Jennings.

"You can put the car up at the R.A.C.," he said. "I'll telephone over when I want you."

He followed the others across the pavement, amid encouraging observations of, "Good-luck, me lord!" and one or two approving pats on the back from hearty if not overclean hands.

Bugg and his trainer had of course gone direct to their dressing-room, where Tony made no attempt to pursue them. He knew that Tiger's preparations were safe in McFarland's hands, so relinquishing his coat to one of the hall porters, he walked straight through to the big gymnasium where the Club contests were held.

It was an animated scene that met his eyes as he entered. A preliminary bout was in progress and round the raised and roped dais in the centre, with its blinding glare of light overhead, sat a thousand or fifteen hundred of London's most eminent "sportsmen." They were nearly all in evening dress: the dazzling array of white shirt fronts and diamond studs affording a vivid testimony to the interest taken in pugilism by the most refined and educated classes.

As soon as the round was ended, Tony made his way slowly towards his seat by the ring-side, exchanging innumerable greetings as he passed along. Almost everybody seemed to know him, and he seemed to have a smile and a cheery word for them all.

A few yards from his destination he came across the Marquis da Freitas. That distinguished statesman was seated in the front row of chairs enjoying a big cigar, while beside him lounged a dark, squarely built, rather coarse-featured youth, who greeted Tony with an affable if slightly condescending wave of his hand. The latter was none other than His Majesty King Pedro the Fifth, the rightful though temporarily discarded ruler of Livadia.

Tony pulled up at this mark of Royal recognition and shook hands with the Marquis and his monarch. It was understood that on such occasions as the present the ex-king preferred to be regarded as an ordinary member of the Club.

"Everything is good I hope," he observed to Tony. "Your man he is up to the scratch—eh?"

He spoke English confidently, but with a marked foreign accent.

"Rather," said Tony. "Never been fitter in his life. No excuses if we're beaten."

Da Freitas blew out a philosophic puff of smoke. "Ah, Sir Antony," he observed, "that is one of your national virtues. You are good losers, you English. Perhaps you do not feel defeat as deeply as Southerners."

"Perhaps not," admitted Tony cheerfully. "Anyhow, it's not much good making a song about things, is it? One's bound to strike a snag occasionally."

The Marquis nodded. "In Livadia," he said softly, "we do not like to be beaten. We——"

There was a loud tang from the gong and the two boxers sprang up out of their respective corners to resume the fight. With a gesture of apology Tony moved along to his seat, where he found himself next to "Doggy" Donaldson, who was discharging his customary rôle of Master of the Ceremonies. He welcomed Tony with a grip of the hand.

"Glad you've turned up," he said. "I never feel really happy till both parties are in the Club. All serene?"

"As far as we're concerned," replied Tony.

Donaldson rubbed his hands. "That's good," he observed contentedly. "We'll have 'em in the ring by nine-thirty at latest. That'll just give us time to—Hullo! Look at that! Damned if Young Alf isn't chucking it."

One of the two contesting youths had suddenly stepped back and held out his hand to his opponent. He had just received a severe dig in the stomach, which had apparently convinced him for the moment that boxing was an unfriendly and over-rated amusement.

With a grunt of disgust at such pusillanimity Donaldson clambered up into the ring, and in a stentorian voice announced the name of the winner. He then introduced two more lithe-limbed active-looking lads, who promptly set about the task of punching each other's heads with refreshing accuracy and vigour.

It was about a quarter-past nine when this bout came to an end, and preparations were begun for the principal event. Two buckets of clean water were brought in, and a large cardboard box containing a couple of new pairs of boxing-gloves was deposited in the centre of the ring. Then, while a truculent looking gentleman in flannel trousers and a sweater strolled about crushing lumps of resin beneath his feet, Doggy Donaldson again hoisted himself into the roped square, and held up his hand for silence.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have the pleasure to announce that the Committee has decided to match the winner of to-night's contest against Jack Rivers, the holder of the Lonsdale Welter Weight Belt."

The applause that greeted this statement had scarcely died away, when a louder and more enthusiastic outburst proclaimed the appearance of the boxers. They came on from different sides of the building each with a small army of seconds in attendance. Climbing up into opposite corners of the ring they bowed their acknowledgments to the audience, and then, after carefully rubbing their feet in the resin, seated themselves on the small stools that had been placed in readiness.

A number of lengthy preliminaries followed. The bandages that each man wore on his hands were gravely inspected by one of his rival's seconds, while another opened the cardboard box, and selected one of the two pairs of gloves for his principal. They were nice-looking gloves, but to the casual observer they would have appeared to be constructed more for the purpose of conforming to the law than of really deadening the effect of a blow. By dint of much pulling and straining, however, each boxer managed to get them on, and then sat with a dressing-gown over his shoulders while "Doggy" Donaldson made the inevitable introductions.

"Gentlemen! A twenty three-minute round contest between 'Lightning' Lopez of Livadia on my right, and 'Tiger' Bugg of Hampstead on my left. The bout will be refereed by Mr. 'Dick' Fisher."

An elderly man in evening dress with a weather-beaten face, hard blue eyes, and a chin like the toe of a boot stepped up alongside the speaker and jerked his head at the audience. He was an ex-amateur champion of England, and one of the best judges of boxing in the world.

The gong sounded as a signal to clear the ring, and the cluster of seconds each side made a leisurely exit through the ropes. For a moment the two boxers were left sitting on their respective stools facing each other across the brilliantly lighted arena. Then came another clang, and with a simultaneous movement they leaped lightly to their feet, and advanced swiftly but cautiously towards the centre.

To any one sufficiently pagan to admire the human form they made a pleasing and effective picture. Both nude, except for a pair of very short blue trunks, they moved forward with the lithe grace of a couple of young panthers. Under the pitiless glare of the big arc lamps the rippling muscles on their backs and shoulders were plainly visible. Bugg's white skin stood out in dazzling contrast to the swarthy colour of his opponent, but as far as bodily perfection went there seemed to be nothing to choose between them.

For a few seconds they circled stealthily round the ring sparring for an opening. Lopez, who had adopted a slightly crouching pose, was the more aggressive of the two. He was famed for the fierce impetuousness of his methods, and on his last appearance at the Club he had signalized the occasion by knocking out his adversary in the second round.

In the present instance, however, he appeared to be a little at a loss. There was nothing very unusual to the eye about Bugg's style, but the almost contemptuous ease with which he brushed aside a couple of lightning-like left leads was distinctly disconcerting to his opponent.

Realizing apparently that as far as quickness and skill went he had met more than his match, the Livadian evidently decided that his usual robust tactics might be the most effective. He drew back a pace, and then slightly dropping his head, sprang in with the vicious fury of a wildcat, hitting out fiercely with both hands.

The suddenness of the attack would have taken most boxers by surprise, but that embarrassing emotion appeared to have no place in Bugg's philosophy. With the swiftness of light he stepped to one side, and just as the human battering ram in front of him hurled itself forward, he brought up his right hand in a whizzing upper cut that caught his adversary under the angle of the jaw. The blow was so perfectly timed and delivered with such tremendous force that it lifted Lopez clean off his feet. With his arms flung out wide each side of him he made a sort of convulsive jerk into the air, and then crashed over backwards on to the floor, where he lay a huddled and inert mass.

For an instant the whole house remained hushed in a stupefied silence. Then as the time-keeper began to count off the fateful seconds a sudden hoarse roar broke out all over the building. Above the din could be heard the voices of Lopez' seconds, howling abuse and entreaty at their unconscious principal. In vain the referee waved his arms, entreating some sort of order for the count.

"Doggy" Donaldson clutched Tony by the wrist. "Damn it!" he shouted excitedly, "I believe he's broken his neck."

Even as he spoke came the clang of the time-keeper's gong, signifying that the ten seconds had passed. In a moment half a dozen figures were swarming over the ropes, but before any one of them could reach him, Bugg had picked up his limp, unconscious adversary in his arms, and was carrying him across the ring to his own corner. He seemed to be by far the coolest and most collected person present.

Almost immediately Tony became the centre of a number of friends and acquaintances who were wringing his hand and congratulating him on the victory. After a minute or two he managed to free himself, and pushing his way through to the ringside, inquired anxiously after the health of the unfortunate Lopez. "Doggy" Donaldson, who was amongst the crowd surrounding that fallen warrior, bent down with an air of considerable relief upon his honest countenance.

"It's all right," he said, "the beggar's coming round. I really thought for a moment he was a goner though. Gad, what a kick that boy of yours has got!"

"Well, I'm glad it's no worse," said Tony.

The other nodded. "Yes," he observed, "we must all be thankful for that. It would have been a rotten thing for the Club if he'd broken his neck."

He turned away, and following suit, Tony suddenly found himself face to face with the Marquis da Freitas, and his royal master, who had apparently stepped forward in order to learn the news. The Marquis appeared as suave as ever, but anything more sulky looking than His Majesty it would have been difficult to imagine.

Da Freitas bowed with the faintest ironical exaggeration. "Permit me to congratulate you, Sir Antony. Your victory is indeed crushing."

Tony regarded him with his usual amiable smile. "Thanks," he said. "I am awfully glad your man isn't seriously hurt. It was bad luck his running into a punch like that." He turned to Pedro. "You can have a return match you know any time, if you care about it."

His Majesty scowled. "I will see him dead before I back him again," he observed bitterly.

The Marquis da Freitas showed his white teeth in a polite smile. "I fear you are rather too strong for us in the boxing-ring, Sir Antony. Perhaps some day we may find a more favourable battle-ground."

"I hope so," said Tony. "I rather like having a shade of odds against me. It's so much more interesting."

He nodded cheerfully to the pair of them, and moving off from the ring-side began to make his way across the hall. It was slow work, for friends kept on pulling him up with boisterous words of congratulation, while several of them made strenuous endeavours to persuade him to join a party at some neighbouring night club, to which they were going on for supper.

Tony, however, declined the invitation on the plea of a previous engagement. As he had told Guy at dinner it was his invariable custom after a successful fight to take Bugg out to Shepherd's, the celebrated oyster bar in Coventry Street—a resort much frequented by gentlemen of pugilistic and sporting tastes. The simple-minded Tiger had not many weaknesses, but on these occasions it afforded him such extreme pleasure to be seen therewith his patron, that Tony wouldn't have missed gratifying him for the most festive supper party in London.

On reaching the dressing-room he found Bugg fully clothed and in the centre of a small levee of pressmen and fellow pugilists. McFarland, immensely in his element, was dispensing champagne to the visitors, and explaining how very lately his own unrivalled training methods had contributed to the result.

Tony stopped and chatted amiably for a few minutes until he could manage to extract Bugg from the centre of his admirers. When at last they succeeded in getting away they slipped out quietly by the side door of the Club in order to avoid the crowd who were still hanging about the front, and with a breath of relief found themselves in the cool night air of Long Acre.

Tony lit a cigarette and offered one to his companion.

"You positively surpassed yourself to-night, Bugg," he said. "The worst of it is that if you go on improving in this way, I shall have to find a new profession. No one will dare to bet against you."

"I 'ope I didn't shove it across 'im too sudden, sir?" inquired Bugg anxiously. "You said you was in a hurry."

"It was perfect," said Tony. "The only person who had any complaint to make was King Pedro."

Bugg sniffed contemptuously. "'E ain't much of a king, sir. I don't wonder they give 'im the chuck. A real king wouldn't taike on abaht droppin' a few quids."

"I daresay you're right," said Tony. "A certain recklessness in finance——"

He suddenly pulled up and for a moment remained where he was, staring across the street. On the opposite pavement, in the bright circle of light thrown by one of the big electric standards, he had caught sight of the figure of a girl, who at that distance reminded him curiously of Molly Monk. She had apparently just come out of the entrance to some flats above, and with a bag in her hand she was standing there in an uncertain, indefinite sort of way, as though she scarcely knew what to do next.

Realizing that it couldn't be Molly, who was of course at the theatre, Tony was just about to move on again, when something checked him.

Two well-dressed men in dark overcoats and soft hats had suddenly appeared out of the shadow ahead and advanced quickly to where the girl was standing. For an instant they all three remained facing each other under the light, and then taking off his hat, one of them addressed her.

With a little frightened gesture the girl shrank back against the wall, where she glanced wildly round as though seeking for some means of escape. The man who had spoken followed her forward, his hat still in his hand, apparently making an effort to reassure her.

Tony turned to Bugg. "We really can't allow this sort of thing in Long Acre," he observed. "It has always been a most respectable street."

He threw away his cigarette, and followed by the future champion of England started off briskly across the road.

On hearing their footsteps the two men spun round with some abruptness. They were both obviously foreigners, and the sight of their sallow faces and black moustaches filled Tony with a pleasant sense of patriotic morality.

Without paying any attention to either of them he walked straight up to the girl, and taking off his hat made her a slight bow.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but from the other side of the road it looked as if these gentlemen were annoying you. Can I be of any assistance?"

She gazed up at him with grateful eyes. At close quarters her resemblance to Molly, though still remarkable, was not quite so convincing. She was a little younger and slighter, and there was a delicate air of distinction about her that was entirely her own.

"Oh, if you would be so kind," she said in a delightfully soft voice. "I do not wish to speak with these men. If you could send them away—right away——"

"Why, of course," replied Tony with his most cheerful smile, "please don't distress yourself."

He turned to the two sallow-faced strangers who seemed to have been utterly disconcerted by his sudden appearance on the scene.

"Go away," he said, "and hurry up about it."

CHAPTER IV
LIKE A FAIRY STORY

There was a short pause, and then the shorter of the two men stepped forward. He was an aggressive looking person with a cast in his eye, and he spoke with a slight foreign accent.

"Sir," he said, "you are making a mistake. We do not intend any insult to this lady. We are indeed her best friends. If you will be good enough to withdraw——"

With the gleam of battle in his eye, Bugg ranged up alongside the speaker, and tapped him on the elbow.

"'Ere!" he observed. "You 'eard wot the guv'nor said, didn't you?" He jerked his thumb over his left shoulder. "'Op it before you get 'urt."

Tony turned to the girl. "You mustn't be mixed up in a street fight," he said. "If you will allow me to see you to a taxi, my friend here will prevent these unpleasant looking people from following us."

He offered her his arm, and after a second's hesitation she laid a small gloved hand upon his sleeve.

"It is very kind of you," she faltered. "I fear I am going to give you a great deal of trouble."

"Not a bit," replied Tony. "I love interfering in other people's affairs."

With a swift stride the cross-eyed gentleman thrust himself across their path.

"No, no!" he exclaimed vehemently. "You must not listen to this man. You——"

With a powerful thrust of his disengaged arm Tony sent him staggering back to the edge of the pavement, where he stumbled over the curb and sat down heavily in the gutter.

His companion, seeing his fall, gave a guttural cry of anger and lifting the light stick that he was carrying lashed out savagely at Bugg. As coolly as if he were in the ring the latter ducked under the blow, and coming up with a beautiful straight left knocked his assailant spinning against the lamp-post.

Tony sent the fellow staggering back to the edge of the pavement. His companion lashed out savagely at Bugg. The latter ducked under the blow, and coming up with a beautiful straight left, knocked his assailant spinning. Tony turned again to the girl. "I am afraid we must tear ourselves away," he remarked. "We shall have half London here in a moment."

Tony turned again to the girl at his side. "I am afraid we must tear ourselves away," he remarked. "We shall have half London here in a moment."

Already from down the street came the shrill blast of a whistle, followed a moment later by the sound of running footsteps. Heedless of these warnings the two strangers, now apparently reckless with fury, were collecting themselves for a fresh attack.

"Keep them busy, Bugg," said Tony quietly; and the next instant he and the girl were hurrying along the pavement in the direction of Martin's Lane. That fairly prosperous thoroughfare was only a few yards' distant, but before they could reach it the sounds of a magnificent tumult broke out again behind them. The girl glanced nervously over her shoulder, and her grip on Tony's arm tightened.

"Oh!" she gasped, "oughtn't we to go back? Your friend will be hurt!"

Tony laughed reassuringly. "If any one's hurt," he observed, "it's much more likely to be one of the other gentlemen."

They rounded the corner, and as they did so a disengaged taxi came bowling opportunely up the street. Tony signalled to the driver to stop.

"Here we are!" he said.

A look of frightened dismay leaped suddenly into his companion's pretty face.

"What's the matter?" asked Tony.

"I—I forgot," she stammered. "I can't take a taxi. I—I haven't any money with me."

There was a moment's pause, while the driver bent forward from his box listening with interest to the spirited echoes from Long Acre.

"That's all right," remarked Tony. "We will talk about it in the cab." He turned to the driver. "Take us to Verrier's," he said. It was the first place that happened to come into his head.

The man jerked his head in the direction of the noise. "Bit of a scrap on from the sound of it, sir!" he observed.

Tony nodded. "Yes," he said regretfully, "it's a quarrelsome world."

He helped his companion into the taxi, and then following himself, shut the door. The vehicle started off with a jerk, and as it swung round the corner into Coventry Street, its occupants were able to catch a momentary glimpse of the spot they had so recently quitted. It appeared to be filled by a small but animated crowd, in the centre of which a cluster of whirling figures was distinctly visible. Tony heard the girl beside him give a faint gasp of dismay.

"It's all right," he said. "Bugg's used to fighting. He likes it."

She looked up at him anxiously. "He is a soldier?" she asked, in that soft attractive voice of hers.

Tony suppressed a laugh just in time. "Something of the sort," he answered. Then with a pleasant feeling that the whole adventure was becoming rather interesting he added: "I say, I have told the man to drive us to Verrier's. I hope if you aren't in a hurry you will be charitable and join me in a little supper—will you? I'm simply starving."

By the light of a passing street lamp he suddenly caught sight of the troubled expression that had come into her eyes.

"Do just what you like, of course," he added quickly. "If you would rather I drove you straight home——"

"As a matter of fact," said the girl with a sort of desperate calmness. "I haven't a home to go to."

There was another brief pause. "Well, in that case," remarked Tony cheerfully, "there is no possible objection to our having a little supper—is there?"

For a moment she stared out of the window without replying. It was plain that she was the prey of several contradictory emotions, of which a vague restless fear seemed to be the most prominent.

"I don't know what to do," she said unhappily. "You are very kind, but——"

"There is only one possible thing to do," interrupted Tony firmly, "and that is to come to Verrier's. We can discuss the next step when we get there."

Even as he spoke the taxi swerved across the road, and drew up in front of the famous underground restaurant.

Before getting out the girl threw a quick hunted glance from side to side of the street. "Do you think either of those men have followed us?" she whispered.

Tony shook his head comfortingly. "From what I know of Bugg," he said, "I should regard it as highly improbable."

He settled up with the driver, and then strolling across the pavement, rejoined the girl, who was waiting for him just outside the entrance. She had evidently made a great effort to recover her self-composure, for she looked up at him with a brave if slightly forced smile.

"I must make myself tidy," she said, "if you won't mind waiting a minute. I am simply not fit to be seen."

The statement appeared to be exaggerated to Tony, but he allowed it to pass unchallenged.

"Please don't hurry," he said. "I want to use the telephone, and if I finish first I can brood over what we'll have for supper."

She smiled again—this time more naturally, and taking the dressing-bag that he had been carrying for her, disappeared into the cloak-room. Tony abandoned his hat and coat to a waiter, and then sauntering forward, entered the restaurant.

The moment he appeared the manager, who was standing on the other side of the room, hastened across to greet him.

"Bon soir, Sir Antony," he observed with that dazzling smile of welcome that managers only produce for their most wealthy customers. "May I 'ave ze pleasiare of finding you a table."

Tony nodded indulgently. "You may, Gustave," he said: "A table for two with flowers on it, and as far away from the band as possible." He paused. "Also," he added, "I want a really nice little supper. Something with imagination about it. The sort of supper that you would offer to an angel if you unexpectedly found one with an appetite."

The manager bowed with a gesture of perfect comprehension.

"And while you are wrestling with the problem," said Tony, "I should like to use the telephone if I may."

He was shown into the private office, where, in response to polite and repeated requests, a lady at the Exchange eventually found leisure to connect him with Shepherd's Oyster Bar.

"Is Mr. 'Tiger' Bugg there?" he inquired.

The man who had answered the call departed to have a look round, and then returned with the information that so far Mr. Bugg had not put in an appearance.

"Well, if he does come," said Tony, "will you tell him for me—Sir Antony Conway—that I shall not be able to join him. He can pick up the car at the R.A.C."

The man promised to deliver the message, and ringing off, Tony strolled back through the restaurant to the place where he had parted from his charming if slightly mysterious companion. He met her just coming out of the cloak-room.

"Oh, I hope I haven't kept you very long," she said penitently.

Tony looked down into the clear amber eyes that were turned up to his own, and thought that she was even prettier than he had at first imagined.

"I have only just this moment finished telephoning," he said. "The Central Exchange are like the gods. They never hurry."

She laughed softly, and then, as the waiter on duty opened the door with a low bow, they walked forward into the restaurant.

M. Gustave, more affable than ever, came up to conduct them to their table.

At the sight of the charming arrangement in maidenhair and narcissi which decorated the centre, the girl gave a little exclamation of pleasure.

"But how beautiful!" she said. "I never knew English restaurants——"

She stopped short as though she suddenly thought the remark were better unfinished.

Tony took no notice of her slight embarrassment. "I am glad you like flowers," he said. "It's such a nice primitive, healthy taste. Since Mr. Chamberlain died I believe I am the only person in London who still wears a button-hole."

They sat down on opposite sides of the table, and for the first time he was able to enjoy a complete and leisurely survey of his companion.

She was younger than he had thought at first—a mere girl of seventeen or eighteen—with the complexion of a wild rose, and the lithe, slender figure of a forest dryad. It was her red hair and the little firm, delicately moulded chin which gave her that curious superficial resemblance to Molly which had originally attracted his attention. He saw now that there were several differences between them—one of the most noticeable being the colour of their eyes. Molly's were blue—blue as the sky, while this girl's were of clear deep amber, like the water of some still pool in the middle of a moorland stream.

What charmed him most of all, however, was the faint air of sensitive pride that hung about her like some fragrant perfume. Although obviously frightened and apparently in a very awkward predicament, she was yet facing the situation with nervous thoroughbred courage that filled Tony with admiration.

One thing struck him as rather incongruous. She had said she had no money, and yet even to his masculine eyes it was quite clear that the clothes she was wearing, though simple in appearance, could have been made by a most expensive dressmaker. On the little finger of her left hand he also noticed a sapphire and diamond ring which if real must be of considerable value. All this combined to fill him with an agreeable and stimulating curiosity.

"I hope you are feeling none the worse for our wild adventures," he said, as the waiter withdrew, after handing them the first course.

She shook her head. "You have been extraordinarily kind," she said in a low voice. "I have a great deal to thank you for. I—I hardly know how to begin."

"Well, suppose we begin by introducing ourselves," he suggested cheerfully. "My name is Conway—Sir Antony Conway. My more intimate friends are occasionally permitted to call me Tony."

She hesitated a second before replying. "My name is Isabel," she said. "Isabel Francis," she added a little lamely.

"I shall call you 'Isabel' if I may," said Tony. "'Miss Francis' sounds so unromantic after the thrilling way in which we became friends."

He paused until the waiter, who had bustled up again with a bottle of champagne had filled their respective glasses and retired.

"And as we have become friends," he continued, "don't you think you can tell me how you have managed to get yourself into this—what shall we call it—scrape? I am not asking just out of mere curiosity. I should like to help you if I can. You see I am always in scrapes myself, so I might be able to give you some good advice."

The gleam of fun in his eyes, and the friendly way in which he spoke, seemed to take away much of his companion's nervousness. She sipped her champagne, looking at him over the top of the glass with a simple, almost childish gratitude.

"You have been kind and nice," she said frankly. "I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't been there." She put down her glass. "You see," she went on in a slower and more hesitating way, "I—I came up to London this evening to stay with an old governess of mine who has a flat in Long Acre. When I got there I found she had gone away, and then I didn't know what to do, because I hadn't brought any money with me."

"Wasn't she expecting you?" asked Tony.

Miss "Isabel Francis" shook her head. "No-o," she admitted. "You see I hadn't time to write and tell her I was coming." She paused. "I—I left home rather in a hurry," she added naïvely.

Tony leaned back in his chair and looked at her with a smile. He was enjoying himself immensely.

"And our two yellow-faced friends in evening-dress," he asked. "Were they really old acquaintances of yours?"

The frightened, hunted look flashed back into her eyes. "No, no," she said quickly. "I had never seen them before in my life. I had just left the flats when they came up and spoke to me. They were both strangers—quite absolutely strangers."

She spoke eagerly, as though specially anxious that her words should carry conviction, but somehow or other Tony felt a little sceptical. He couldn't forget the fierce persistence of the two men, which seemed quite out of keeping with the idea that they had been interrupted in a mere piece of wanton impertinence. Besides, if what she said about them were true it would hardly account for her unreasoning terror that they might have followed her to the restaurant. Being polite by nature, however, he was careful to show no sign of doubting her statement.

He allowed the waiter to help them both to some attractive looking mystery in aspic, and then, when they were again alone, he leaned forward and observed with sympathy:

"Well, I'm glad we happened to roll up at the right time. It's always jolly to give that sort of gentlemen a lesson in manners." He paused. "Have you made any kind of plans about what you are going to do next?"

She shook her head. "I—I haven't quite decided," she said. "I suppose I must find some place to stay at until Miss Watson comes back."

"How long will that be?"

"I don't know. You see she has just gone away and shut up the flat, and left no address."

"Haven't you any other friends in London?"

She shook her head again. "Nobody," she said, "at least nobody who could help me." Then she hesitated. "I have lived in Paris nearly all my life," she added by way of explanation.

There was a brief silence.

"If you will forgive my mentioning such a sordid topic," remarked Tony pleasantly, "what do you propose to do about money?"

"I can get some money to-morrow," she answered. "I can sell some jewellery—this ring for instance—and there are other things in my bag."

"And to-night?"

She glanced round rather desperately. "I don't know. I must go somewhere. I was thinking that perhaps I could sit in one of the churches—or there might be a convent—" She broke off with a little glance, as if appealing to Tony for his advice.

"Why not go to a hotel?" he suggested. "If you will allow me, I will lend you some money, and you can pay me back when it's convenient."

She flushed slightly. "Oh!" she stammered, "you are so kind. Perhaps if I could find some quite quiet place—" She stopped again, but looking at her, Tony could see the old hunted expression still lurking in her eyes. Somehow he felt certain that she was thinking about the two strangers.

A sudden brilliant idea suggested itself to him. "Look here!" he exclaimed. "How would this do? My butler's wife—Mrs. Spalding—has got a small house just off Heath Street, Hampstead. I know she lets rooms and I am pretty nearly sure that just at present there is no one there. Why shouldn't we run up in the car and have a look at the place? She could fix you up for the night anyway, and if you find you like it you can stay on there till your Miss—Miss Thingumbob comes back."

A naturally distrustful nature was evidently not one of Isabel's characteristics, for she received the proposal with the most frank and genuine gratitude.

"Oh!" she cried, "that would be nice! But won't she be asleep by now?"

"It doesn't matter if she is," said Tony tranquilly. "We will pick up Spalding on the way and take him round with us to rout her out. If she feels peevish at being waked up, she can let the steam off on him first."

He beckoned to the waiter and asked that accomplished henchman to ring up the R.A.C. and instruct Jennings to bring the car round to Verrier's.

"And find out," he added, "whether 'Tiger' Bugg has turned up there or not."

The waiter departed on his mission, coming back in a few minutes with the information that the car would be round at once, and that so far Mr. 'Tiger' Bugg had neither been seen nor heard of.

"I wonder where he can be," said Tony to his companion. "He can't possibly have taken all this time to slaughter a couple of dagoes. I am afraid the police must have interfered."

The suggestion seemed to fill Isabel with a certain amount of dismay.

"The police!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "Oh, but I hope not. He is so brave he would have fought with them, and perhaps they may have killed him."

The picture of a desperately resisting Bugg being hacked to pieces on the pavement by infuriated bobbies appealed hugely to Tony's sense of humour.

"I don't think it's likely," he said in a reassuring tone. "The English police as a whole are very good-natured. They seldom take life except in self-defence."

He added one or two other items of information with regard to Bugg's hardihood and fertility of resource, which seemed to comfort Isabel, and then, with the latter's permission, he lighted a cigarette and called for his bill.

He was just settling it when news came that the car had arrived. He instructed the waiter to place Isabel's bag inside, and then bidding good-night to the bowing and valedictory M. Gustave, they walked upstairs to the entrance.

They found the big gleaming Rolls-Royce drawn up by the curb with Jennings standing in a joyless attitude at the door. When his glance fell on Isabel he looked more pessimistic than ever.

"Any news of Bugg?" inquired Tony.

The chauffeur shook his head. "Not a word, sir."

"I left a message at Shepherd's that he was to come and pick you up at the Club. I wonder what's happened to him."

For a moment Jennings brooded darkly over the problem. "Perhaps he got some internal injury in the fight and was took sudden with it in the street," he suggested. "I could run round the 'orspitals and make inquiries if you wished, sir?"

"Thank you, Jennings," said Tony. "You are very helpful; but I think I should prefer to go back to Hampstead."

"Just as you please, sir," observed Jennings indifferently.

He closed the door after them, and then mounting the driving-seat, started off along Piccadilly.

Isabel, who had again cast a quick glance out of each window, turned to Tony with a smile.

"He doesn't seem a very cheerful man, your chauffeur," she said. "He has got such a sad voice."

Tony nodded. "That's the reason I originally engaged him. I like to have a few miserable people about the place: they help me to realize how happy I am myself."

Isabel laughed merrily. The solution of her difficulties in the way of a lodging seemed to have taken an immense weight off her spirits, and in the agreeably shaded light of the big limousine she looked younger and prettier than ever. So far his new adventure struck Tony as being quite the most interesting and promising he had ever embarked on.

As the car glided on through the depressing architecture of Camden Town he began to tell her in a cheerful inconsequent sort of fashion something about his house and general surroundings. She listened with the utmost interest, the whole thing evidently striking her as being highly novel and entertaining.

"And do you live quite by yourself?" she asked.

"Quite," said Tony. "Except for Spalding and Jennings and Bugg and a cook and two or three maid-servants and dear old Guy!"

"Who's Guy?" she demanded.

"Guy," he said, "can be best described as being Guy. In addition to that he is also my cousin and my secretary."

"Your secretary?" she repeated. "Why, what does he do?"

"His chief occupation is doing my tenants," said Tony. "In his spare time he gives me good advice which I never follow. You must come to breakfast to-morrow and make his acquaintance."

The car turned in at the drive gates of "Goodman's Rest," which was the felicitous name that Tony had selected for his house, and drew up outside the front entrance.

"I will just see if Spalding has gone to bed," he said to Isabel. "If not it's hardly worth while your getting out."

He opened the door with his key and entering the hall, which was lighted softly by concealed electric lamps, pressed a bell alongside the fireplace. Almost immediately a door swung open at the back and Spalding appeared on the threshold.

"Good," said Tony, "I thought you might have turned in."

"I was about to do so, Sir Antony," replied Spalding impassively. "May I mention how pleased we all were at the news of Bugg's success."

"Oh, you have heard about it!" remarked Tony. "Is Bugg back then?"

"No, sir. I took the liberty of ringing up the Cosmopolitan. The Cook had a half-crown on, sir, and she was almost painfully anxious to ascertain the result."

Tony nodded his approval. "After the way she grilled that sole to-night," he said, "I would deny her nothing." He paused. "Spalding," he added: "are you frightened of your wife?"

"No, sir," replied Spalding. "At least not more than most husbands, sir."

"Well, I want you to come and act as my ambassador. There is a young lady in the motor outside who is in need of somewhere to sleep and some kind and sensible person to look after her. I know Mrs. Spalding lets rooms, and although it's rather a queer time of night to receive a new lodger, I thought that if you came and put the case to her tactfully, she might stretch a point to oblige me."

Spalding's face remained beautifully expressionless. "I am sure my wife would do anything to oblige you, sir," he observed. "If you will excuse my saying so, you stand very high in her good opinion, sir."

"Indeed!" said Tony. "I am afraid you must be an extraordinarily deceitful husband, Spalding."

The butler bowed. "I make a point, sir, of only repeating incidents which seem to me likely to appeal to her."

"A very excellent habit," said Tony gravely. "Get on your hat and coat, and we will see how it works out in practice."

A few minutes later, with Spalding sitting on the front seat alongside of Jennings, they were retracing their way across the Heath. On reaching the main thoroughfare they turned up one of the little steep streets that run off to the right, and came to a halt in front of an old-fashioned row of small white houses, standing back behind narrow slips of garden.

Spalding opened the gate for them, and then leading the way up the path, let them in at the front door with a latch-key. A feeble flicker of gas was burning in the hall.

"If you will wait in here, sir," he observed, opening a door on the right, "I will go upstairs and acquaint my wife with your arrival."

The room he showed them into, though small in size and simply furnished, was a remarkably pleasant little apartment. In the first place, everything was scrupulously clean, and the general impression of cheerful freshness was heightened by a couple of bowls of hyacinths in full bloom which stood on a table in the window.

"How does this appeal to the taste of Isabel?" inquired Tony, lighting himself another cigarette.

"Why it's charming!" she exclaimed. "I shall be so happy if I can stay here. It all seems so free and lovely after—" she checked herself—"after where I have been living," she finished.

"Well, I hope it will all be up to sample," said Tony, "I can't imagine Spalding being content with anything second rate—at least judging by his taste in wine and cigars." He paused. "What time would you like breakfast in the morning?"

"Breakfast?" she repeated.

"I always call it breakfast," explained Tony. "It is such a much healthier sounding word than lunch. Suppose I send the car round for you about eleven? Would that be too early?"

She shook her head, smiling. "I expect I could manage it," she said. "You see I generally get up at eight o'clock."

"We could have it a little earlier if you like," remarked Tony unselfishly.

"Oh, no," she answered. "I shall probably enjoy lying in bed to-morrow." Then with a little laugh she added: "But surely I can walk round. It's quite a short distance isn't it, and all across the nice Heath?"

"Just as you like," said Tony. "I shall send the car any way. The morning air is so good for Jennings."

As he spoke there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Spalding re-entered the room.

"My wife asks me to say, sir, that she will be very pleased to make the young lady as comfortable as possible. She is coming downstairs herself as soon as we have withdrawn. Owing to the lateness of the hour she is slightly—h'm—en déshabillé."

"We will retire in good order," said Tony gravely. Then as Spalding tactfully left the room he turned to Isabel.

"Good-night, Isabel," he said. "Sleep peacefully, and don't dream that you are being chased by yellow-faced strangers."

She gave him her little slim cool hand, and he raised it lightly to his lips.

"Good-night," she answered, "and thank you, thank you again so much." Then she paused. "It's just like a fairy story, isn't it?" she added.

"Just," said Tony with enthusiasm.

CHAPTER V
THE LENIENCY OF JUSTICE

As the clock above the mantelpiece struck eleven, Guy Oliver wiped his pen and laid it carefully down in front of him. He was sitting at a roll-top desk in his office—a room of severely business-like aspect, chiefly furnished with maps and filing cabinets.

With that systematic deliberation that marked all his movements he extracted a document from the pigeon-hole in front of him and rising to his feet walked across to the door. In the passage outside a neatly dressed housemaid was engaged in the task of polishing the banisters.

"Do you know if Sir Antony is up yet, Mary?" he inquired.

"He has been up some little time, sir," answered the girl. "I believe you will find him in the study. I heard him telling Mr. Spalding to lay breakfast in there, instead of in the dining-room."

With a look of mild surprise upon his face, Guy pursued his way downstairs. He crossed the hall, and opening the door of the study remained for a moment on the threshold, contemplating the scene in front of him.

A black oak gate-legged table, gleaming with flowers, fruit, and silver, stood out attractively in the centre of the room, while the spring sunshine, streaming in through the open French window, bathed everything in its warm, inspiriting rays. Tony himself looking delightfully cool and serene in a perfectly cut grey morning suit, was lounging on the broad window-seat gazing out into the garden.

He turned round at Guy's entrance.

"Hullo, old chap!" he observed pleasantly: "just out of bed?"

Guy took no notice of this irreverent question. He advanced to the table, and adjusting his pince-nez, carefully inspected its contents.

"If you will forgive my saying so, Tony," he remarked, "you are becoming shamelessly greedy. Where on earth did you get these peaches and hothouse grapes from?"

"I sent Jennings into Harrod's for them," answered Tony. "A little morning exercise is good for him, and I have a friend coming to breakfast."

"Oh!" said Guy. "Any one I know?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't think so. In fact we only became acquainted ourselves last night."

"One of your curious sporting acquaintances, I suppose?" observed Guy with a faint touch of disapproval.

Tony smiled pensively. "Yes," he said, "on the whole I think we may pass the description. If you will wait and have breakfast with us I shall be charmed to introduce you."

"Thanks very much," said Guy, "but I had my breakfast a couple of hours ago. Besides I am rather busy this morning." He produced the paper which he had brought down from the office. "I wanted to catch you before you went out, to get you to sign this. It's the agreement with Marshall I spoke to you about on Thursday. You had better look it through."

Tony pulled a fountain pen out of his inside pocket. "My dear Guy!" he said. "I should never dream of reading a document that you had passed as accurate. It would be a reflection on your sobriety."

He scribbled his name in the appointed place and handed the paper back to his cousin.

"I see in the Daily Mail this morning that Bugg won his fight all right," remarked the latter. "What time did you get back?"

"I got back at a most respectable hour," said Tony. "I am sorry to say I managed to lose Bugg."

"Lose him!" echoed Guy.

"Yes," said Tony. "You know how careless I am. I——"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called out.

The door opened and Spalding advanced with dignity across the threshold.

"Miss Francis," he announced.

There was a moment's pause and then, looking slightly embarrassed but most refreshingly beautiful, Isabel appeared in the doorway.

Tony who had jumped to his feet came forward and took her hand.

"Good-morning, Isabel," he said. "How wonderfully punctual you are! You must have been very well brought up."

She shook her head, smiling shyly. "I am afraid it is only because I am hungry," she said. "As a rule I am late for everything."

"We ought to get along together famously," replied Tony. "Let's see, you don't know Guy yet, do you? Guy, let me introduce you to Isabel. I have already acquainted her with some of your better and brighter qualities."

Guy, whose face was an interesting study in blended emotions, made a little stiff bow.

"I have been trying to persuade him to stay and have breakfast with us," proceeded Tony mischievously, "but he says he doesn't care about my curious sporting friends."

With a spasmodic gesture Guy took a step forward. "Really I—I protest," he stammered. "You mustn't listen to him, Miss Francis. It is a gross misrepresentation."

"I am quite sure you wouldn't say anything disagreeable, Mr.—Mr. Guy," replied Isabel consolingly. "You have much too kind a face."

Guy crimsoned vividly, and with a gentle chuckle Tony relieved Isabel of her coat.

"Don't you be deceived," he said. "You should hear the brutal way he addresses my tenants when they want something done to their houses."

"Oh, do shut up, Tony," remonstrated Guy.

"Aren't you really going to stay to breakfast?" asked Isabel, inspecting the table. "There seems to be such a lot for two."

"I—I am afraid I can't," said Guy with some embarrassment. "I should be delighted to, but—I have some work I must get done." He turned to Tony. "By the way, there was a note from Henry this morning saying that if you were going to be at home to-night he would like to come to dinner. He wants me to ring him up and let him know."

"I suppose we may as well get it over," said Tony sadly. "If I say no he will only want me to dine at Rutland Gate, and that would be worse still. The last time I went I was put next to a woman who ate nothing but beans and drank hot water and lemon. It made me feel quite faint."

"Very well," said Guy. "I will tell him to come along at eight. Don't go out and forget all about it."

He made another stiff little bow to Isabel, and walking across to the door, took his departure.

"That's Guy," said Tony. "What do you think of him?"

"I think he's rather nice," said Isabel thoughtfully. "He is just a wee bit serious, of course, but then you want that in a secretary, don't you?"

Tony nodded. "Guy is wonderful," he began. "Since he came to live with me——"

He was interrupted by the reappearance of Spalding, who entered the room carrying a tray full of silver dishes which sent up various appetizing odours into the morning air.

Isabel contemplated the feast with frank interest.

"What a good breakfast!" she observed. "Do you always have a breakfast like this?"

"Always," replied Tony firmly. "I find my constitution requires it."

He walked across to the sideboard, where Spalding had set out the dishes, and lifting up their covers in turn announced the results to Isabel.

She selected mushroom omelette as a starting point, and after helping himself lightly to the same delicacy, Tony sat down alongside of her at the gate-legged table.

"Well," he said, "and what's the report? Has Mrs. Spalding made you comfortable?"

Isabel nodded gratefully. "Yes," she said; "she has been so pleasant and kind. She didn't seem to mind in the least my coming in like that in the middle of the night, and this morning she had a cup of tea and a lovely hot bath all ready for me when I woke up." She paused. "I don't know what I should have done last night if it hadn't been for you," she added with a sudden slight return to her former shyness.

"Oh, you would have been all right," said Tony cheerfully. "Somebody else would have come along and knocked those interfering gentlemen down for you. London is full of obliging strangers. We just had the good luck to be the first—that was all."

"It was not all," returned Isabel with spirit. "There was the supper, and finding me somewhere to go to, and asking me to breakfast this morning, and—and—oh, being so nice about everything." She hesitated. "Your friend—the one who fought for us so bravely—I hope he was not hurt?"

Tony shook his head. "You couldn't hurt Bugg," he said, "except with a pickaxe."

"I hope you told him how grateful I was to him," she added.

"I haven't had the chance yet," replied Tony. "He hasn't come home."

A sudden look of concern flashed into Isabel's amber eyes. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "perhaps he is hurt after all. Perhaps he is in a hospital!"

"I should think it much more likely that he's in a police station," observed Tony. "I can't think why he hasn't rung up though, unless it's because he is anxious to keep my name out of it. For a prize-fighter Bugg has the most wonderfully delicate feelings."

"A prize-fighter!" echoed Isabel. "Is he a prize-fighter like—like—like Carpentier?"

"Something like him," said Tony; "especially the way he covers up." He paused. "Bugg is really quite a famous person in his way you know. He is practically the welter-weight champion of England. He only stays on here and works for me because it amuses him. I meant to explain last night, but there were so many other things to talk about."

"I see," said Isabel slowly. "And you were just walking together?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, Bugg had been boxing at the Cosmopolitan Club. It was over rather earlier than we expected, and I was taking him along to give him some supper. That's how we happened to be in Long Acre."

Isabel nodded. "I understand. It is all plain now. Last night I was frightened and everything seemed so confused."

"I don't wonder at it," said Tony sympathetically. "Unless one's led a very strenuous life it must be horribly confusing to be suddenly held up by a couple of dagoes in Long Acre, and then rescued by a future champion of England."

There was a long pause.

"I—I feel somehow that I ought to explain," began Isabel uncomfortably. "You have been so nice about not asking any questions, but of course you must be wondering who I am, and—and how things came to be like this."

"Only mildly and pleasantly," said Tony. "I never allow my curiosity to get painful."

Isabel set down her cup. "I would tell you if I could," she said rather desperately, "but there are reasons why I mustn't."

Tony's face brightened at once. "How nice!" he observed. "I love mystery, and so few people have any of it about them nowadays—especially in Hampstead."

"I hate it," exclaimed Isabel with what seemed unnecessary bitterness: "I have had nothing else but mystery and secrets all my life. Oh, if you only knew how lovely it was just to be oneself for once—to be able to do and say exactly what one likes—" She paused and took a long, deep breath. "I can't go back again," she added. "I—I believe I should kill myself if I did."

"Of course you can't go back," said Tony. "We settled all that last night. You are going to stay on with Mrs. Spalding and adopt me and Guy as cousins. I don't think there is any need to let Henry in just at present. One would want a bit of practice before adopting Henry."

Isabel looked across at him with that frank, almost childish smile of hers, which contrasted so delightfully with the little touch of dignity in her manner.

"I should love to have some nice relations," she said. "All mine are perfectly horrid."

"And all mine," observed Tony, "are horribly perfect. I don't know which is the more trying of the two."

There was a moment's pause, and then, as if a sudden thought had struck her, Isabel reached across to the adjoining chair, and unhooked the little silver chain-bag which she had brought in with her.

"Oh," she said, "before I forget I wanted to ask you if you would be so kind as to do something for me. I hate bothering you, but you see I don't know any one else, and I'm so ignorant about this kind of thing." She took out a couple of rings and a brooch and pushed them across the table. "It's to sell them," she added. "I—I think they ought to be worth something."

Tony picked up the brooch. It was a beautiful piece of work—a large single and absolutely flawless emerald, delicately set in gold. Without being an expert in such matters he knew enough of precious stones to realize that it was of considerable value.

"I should think this would do to begin with," he said, "unless you are going to be very extravagant. It ought to bring in bread and butter for the rest of your life-time."

Isabel's face lighted up. "Will it really!" she exclaimed. "How lovely. I never thought it would be worth as much as that!"

Tony turned his attention to the rings, which in their way were every bit as good as the brooch. One was the half-hoop of sapphires and diamonds which he had noticed on the previous evening, the other consisted of three very fine rubies, mounted in a curious, old-fashioned setting that seemed to be of Eastern origin.

He examined them both with much interest and then handed them back to Isabel.

"You must keep them," he said. "They are much too beautiful to sell, and besides, there is no need to sell them. The brooch will bring you in quite a lot of money, and you can always get credit from the milkman as long as you wear rubies and diamonds."

Isabel smiled, and slipping on the two rings held them out for Tony's inspection.

"I am so glad," she said happily. "I should hate to have sold them really. You see they belonged—" She again came to an abrupt and rather confused halt. "They belonged to my great-grandmother," she finished weakly.

"Indeed," said Tony in a perfectly grave voice. "She must have had charming hands."

There was a light tap at the door, and after a moment's delay the discreet figure of Spalding again appeared on the threshold.

"I beg pardon, Sir Antony," he observed, "but Bugg has just returned. I thought you might wish to be informed."

Tony pushed back his chair. "What has he been doing with himself?" he asked.

"I fancy, sir," returned Spalding impassively, "that he has been spending the night in the Bow Street police station."

"Oh!" exclaimed Isabel in a horrified voice.

"Really!" said Tony. "How exciting!" He turned to Isabel. "Shall we have him up?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Send him along, Spalding," continued Tony. "He needn't trouble about making himself beautiful. Tell him I should like to see him at once."

The butler withdrew, and a few moments later Bugg appeared in the doorway. He saluted Tony with a cheerful grin, and then, as he caught sight of Isabel, a sudden embarrassment seemed to descend upon his spirit. He coughed apologetically, lowered his eyes, and shuffled slightly with one foot.

"Good-morning, Bugg," said Tony. "Come and sit down."

Bugg advanced cautiously to the nearest chair and seated himself on the extreme edge.

"Mornin', sir," he observed. Then, throwing a nervous glance at Isabel, he added hoarsely, "Pleased to see yer, Miss."

"I am very pleased to see you," said Isabel a little shyly. "I want to thank you for what you did last night. I am so sorry they took you to prison."

Bugg stared hard at the carpet. "That's all right, Miss," he muttered. "Don't you worry abaht that, Miss."

Tony offered Isabel a cigarette, and then lit one himself.

"You were magnificent, Bugg," he said. "Tell us what happened after we left."

Bugg coughed again. "Well, sir, 'twas this wy, sir. Seein' as you and the young laidy was best aht of it, I jest keeps them two Daigoes busy like withaht puttin' 'em through it. It didn't seem to me as no one was goin' to taike the trouble to foller you when 'e could be standin' there watchin' a scrap fur nothin'."

"I hope you didn't get hurt," said Isabel, who, with a slightly bewildered expression, had been trying to follow this narrative.

Bugg shook his head. "Not me, Miss. It was jest a 'alf 'oliday fur me till they starts usin' their feet, and then I 'anded 'em a couple of flaps in the jaw quick, an' that steadied 'em. Not as I think they meant no 'arm, Miss. There's parts o' the world where they don't know no better.

"Yours is a generous heart, Bugg," said Tony. "What happened next?"

"The rozzers come then, sir—a pair of 'em, sir. They busts in through the crowd like tigers, and afore ye could wink, one of 'em grabs onter me, and the other cops 'old of the tall Daigo."

"And the second man—the one with the crooked eyes?" asked Isabel quickly. "What happened to him?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, Miss," said Bugg apologetically. "Yer see, 'e weren't there in a manner o' speakin'. 'E'd gorn across the street when I give 'im that shove in the jaw, an 'e 'adn't 'ad time to come back. I think the coppers missed 'im."

"But they stuck to you two all right?" said Tony.

Bugg nodded his head. "Yus, sir, we all goes orf to the staition together—me an' the cops an' the Daigo an' the 'ole bloomin' street arter us. It weren't 'alf a picnic, sir, I can tell yer. Well, w'en we gets to the staition, I sees the inspector—'im wot taikes the charge—lookin' partikler 'ard at me, but 'e don't say nothin', 'cept to ask me my naime and address.

"''Erbert Johnson of 'Igh Street, Keington,' says I. It was the fust thing as comes into my 'ead.

"'An' you?' says 'e, turnin' to the Daigo.

"'My naime is Smith,' says the Daigo in 'is funny foreign wy o' speakin'.

"'It's a good naime,' says the inspector, writin' it dahn. 'Wot's all this trouble abaht?'

"'It was a misunderstandin',' says the Daigo very 'aughty like. 'I declines to answer any further questions.'

"'You got anything to sy, 'Erbert Johnson,' says 'e to me.

"'I agree with the gen'leman wot's just spoke, sir,' says I.

"'Very well,' says 'e. 'This is a matter fur 'is Honour, this is. You'll 'ave to stop 'ere the night, the pair of ye, unless ye've got some kind friends as'll come along an' bail yer aht.'

"'E looks at us both, but the Daigo don't sy nothin' and I thinks to meself the more privit we keeps this 'ere little mixup the better fur all parties concerned. So I lays low too, an' orf we goes to the cells, saime as a couple o' ord'nary drunks and disorderlies."

Bugg paused for a moment, and a reminiscent grin spread slowly across his face.

"It's a good story," said Tony encouragingly. "Go on with it."

"Well, sir, I 'adn't bin in the cell very long w'en the door opens and who should come in but the inspector 'isself. 'E looks me up an' dahn with a kinder twinkle in 'is eye, an' then 'e says, ''Erbert Johnson,' 'e says, 'w'y the 'ell didn't yer dot 'im one o' them left 'ooks o' yours, and then we shouldn't 'ave 'ad all this trouble?' Well, that done it, sir! I twigs at once 'e'd spotted who I was, and seein' 'e meant ter be friendly like I ups and tells 'im just exactly 'ow it 'ad all come abaht. 'Don't worry,' says 'e ter me; 'your blue-chinned pal don't want a fuss no more'n you do. 'E's jest bin bribin' and corruptin' o' me to run the caise through as a ord'nary street quarrel, an' seein' as we're told ter be kind to straingers, per'aps I might see my wy ter do it.' Then 'e puts 'is 'and on my shoulder. 'As fur you, 'Erbert Johnson,' 'e says, 'you gotter come along with me an' be introjooced to some o' the boys. We does a bit o' scrappin' 'ere in our spare time, an' 'tain't often we 'as the honour of entertaining a future champion of England.'

"With that, sir, 'e taikes me upstairs to the inspector's room, where there was 'alf a dozen cops sittin' arahnd smokin' and drinkin' saime as if it was a pub or a privit drorin' room. Talk o' sports, sir—w'y Gawd love us I might a bin the King of England the wy they treated me. 'Tell us abaht the fight, Tiger,' they says, and if you'd seen me sittin' there, sir, with a large Bass in one 'and and a four-penny stinker in the other and all them cops 'angin' on my words, ye'd 'ave laughed fit ter bust yerself, sir."

Tony nodded his head. "I have always suspected that the police led a double life," he said.

"They're all right, sir," explained Bugg earnestly, "on'y they got their livin' to get, saime as other folks. They treated me proper, they did. Gimme a 'addick fur breakfast next mornin', and w'en the caise comes on they 'as it all arrainged fur us right an' simple as anything. The copper as took us 'e tells 'is little bit, saime as wot 'e'd fixed up with the inspector, an' then the Beak—'ole Sir 'Orace Samuel it was—'e puts on 'is glasses and blinks rahnd at the pair of us. 'Either o' the prisoners any observations to hoffer?' 'e says. 'E waits 'alf a tick, an' then as neither of us says nothin', 'e scratches 'is 'ead and grunts aht, 'seven-and-sixpence an' costs, an' 'urry up with the nex' caise.'"

Bugg stopped, and wiping his forehead with his coat sleeve looked from Tony to Isabel and then back again at his patron.

"An' that's abaht all, sir," he added. "We forks out the rhino, and then I gets a taxi-cab and tells the bloke to bung along 'ere as quick as 'e can shift." He hesitated for a moment. "I 'ope I done the right thing, sir?" he finished anxiously.

There was a long pause.

"You always do the right thing, Bugg," said Tony, at last. "It's almost a disease with you."

He pushed back his chair and for a little while remained gazing thoughtfully at the marmalade pot.

"Bugg," he said; "have you any special engagements the next few days?"

"Not as I knows on, sir," replied Tiger, innocently.

Tony nodded his head. "Good," he observed, and without further comment he renewed his contemplation of the breakfast table.

"There's the matter o' the stakes, sir," Bugg ventured to remind him. "'Alf-past twelve, sir, was the time Dr. Donaldson said they'd be payin' over."

Tony again nodded. "That will be all right, Bugg," he said. "I will go down to the Club myself and collect the royal booty. I only hope Da Freitas will turn up personally. It would give me great pleasure to watch him writing out the cheque."

He looked across smilingly towards Isabel, and saw to his amazement that she had suddenly gone as white as a sheet.

CHAPTER VI
PRICING AN HEIRLOOM

Tony was so surprised that for a moment he remained just as he was. Then suddenly recovering himself he turned back to Bugg.

"You had better go along and find yourself something to eat, 'Tiger,'" he said. "That haddock must be getting a little historical by now."

Bugg rose to his feet with a grin. "I could shift a bit, sir," he observed, "an' that ain't 'alf a fact."

"Tell the cook what you'd like," said Tony. "After last night she will do anything for you." He paused. "I want to see you again before I go out," he added.

Bugg touched his forehead, and after making a respectful obeisance to Isabel withdrew from the room. Tony followed him to the door, and then closing it after him, turned back leisurely towards the table. Though she still looked a little pale and upset, the interval had obviously done Isabel good.

"Is there anything the matter?" asked Tony kindly.

She shook her head, with a plucky if rather unsuccessful attempt at a smile. "No," she said, "I—I didn't feel very well for a moment. It's nothing—absolutely nothing." She paused, her lower lip caught nervously between her small white teeth. "I don't think I ought to bother you any more," she added with a kind of forced calmness. "I think perhaps it would be best after all if I—if I found somewhere else to go to."

Tony made a gesture of dissent. "It can't be done," he said gravely. "You see you are my lodger now, and you have got to give me a full week's notice." Then with a sudden change he went on: "You mustn't be selfish you know, Isabel. You can't float into people's lives out of Long Acre with all sorts of delightful suggestions of romance and mystery about you, and then simply disappear again the next morning. It's not playing the game. I should feel like a man who had been turned out of a theatre at the end of the first act."

"You don't understand," said Isabel almost in a whisper.

"I know I don't," said Tony cheerfully. "That's what's so charming about it." He paused. "Suppose we have a week's trial at all events?" he suggested. "If it turns out a failure it will be just as easy for you to disappear then. You know both Guy and I improve on acquaintance—really. You mustn't judge us by what we are like at breakfast. We get much more bright and pleasant as the day wears on."

In spite of herself Isabel laughed. "It isn't that I don't want to stay," she said. "I—I like you both very much." She hesitated and looked nervously round the room as if seeking for inspiration. "It's what might happen," she added. "I can't explain, but I might be the cause of getting you into trouble or—or even danger."

"That's all right," said Tony. "I like danger, and Guy simply adores trouble. He takes it with everything."

Isabel made a faint gesture of helplessness. "Oh," she said. "I can't go on arguing. You are so obstinate. But I have warned you, haven't I?"

Tony nodded. "If you like to call it a warning," he said. "I look on it more as a promise. If you knew how dull Hampstead was you would understand our morbid thirst for a little unhealthy excitement."

"I don't think I should find Hampstead dull," remarked Isabel a shade wistfully. "It seems to me just beautifully peaceful. I think I should like to live here for ever, and do exactly what I want to, and not be bothered about anything."

"But that's precisely what I am suggesting," observed Tony.

Isabel smiled again. She seemed to be recovering her spirits. "I should have to get some clothes first," she said. "I couldn't live here for ever on the contents of one small dressing-bag."

"It sounds inadequate," agreed Tony, "but I think that's a difficulty we might get over. I was just going to propose that you should take the car and Mrs. Spalding this afternoon, and go and do some shopping."

Isabel's eyes sparkled. "How lovely!" she exclaimed. Then a sudden cloud came over her face. "But I forgot," she added, "I haven't any money—not until you have sold the brooch for me."

"That doesn't matter," said Tony. "If you will let me, I will advance you fifty pounds, and you can pay me to-morrow when we settle up."

Isabel took a deep breath. "Oh, you are kind," she said. Then for a moment she paused, her forehead knitted as though some unpleasant thought had suddenly come into her mind.

"Anything wrong?" inquired Tony.

She looked round again with the same half-nervous, half-hunted expression he had seen before.

"I was thinking," she faltered. "Those two men. I wonder if there is any chance that I might meet them again. I—I know it's silly to be frightened, but somehow or other—" She broke off as if hardly knowing how to finish the sentence.

Tony leaned across the table and took her hand in his.

"Look here, Isabel," he said, "you have got to forget those ridiculous people. Whoever they are it is quite impossible for them to interfere with you again. We don't allow our adopted cousin to be frightened by anybody, let alone a couple of freaks out of a comic opera. I would have come shopping with you myself this afternoon if I hadn't promised to try out a new car at Brooklands. As it is I am going to send Bugg. He will sit in front with Jennings, and if you want any one knocked down you have only to mention the fact and he will do it for you at once."

Isabel looked across at him gratefully. "It's just like having a private army of one's own," she said.

Tony nodded approvingly. "That's the idea exactly. We'll call ourselves the Isabel Defence Force, and we'll make this our headquarters. You are really quite safe, you know, with Mrs. Spalding, but you can always retreat here when you feel specially nervous." He patted her hand encouragingly, and sat back in his chair. "Why not stay here now," he suggested, "until you go shopping? No one will bother you. You can sit in the garden and read a book, or else go to sleep in the hammock. Spalding will get you some lunch when you feel like it."

"Lunch!" echoed Isabel, opening her eyes. "What, after this?" She made an eloquent little gesture towards the sideboard.

"Certainly," said Tony. "The Hampstead climate is very deceptive. One requires a great deal of nourishment."

"Is the nourishment compulsory?" asked Isabel. "If not I think I should like to stay."

"You shall do exactly what you please about everything," said Tony. "I believe in complete freedom—at all events for the upper classes."

He got up, and crossing the room to an old oak bureau in the corner, took out a cheque book from the drawer and filled in a cheque for fifty pounds. This he blotted and handed to Isabel.

"Here's a piece of the brooch for you to go on with," he said. "Jennings will drive you to the bank first, and after that he will take you wherever you want to go. Don't worry about keeping him waiting or anything of that sort. He is quite used to it, and he always looks unhappy in any case."

Isabel daintily folded up the cheque and put it away in her bag. Underneath her obvious gratitude there was a certain air of naturalness about the way she accepted Tony's help that the latter found immensely fascinating. It reminded him somehow of a child or a princess in a fairy story.

"I shall love going shopping again," she began frankly. "It will seem like—" Once more she paused, and then as if she had suddenly changed her mind about what she intended to say, she added a little confusedly: "Oughtn't I to let Mrs. Spalding know that I want her to come with me this afternoon?"

Tony shook his head. "I think we can manage that for you," he said. "The house is full of strong, idle men." He got up from the desk. "Come along and let me introduce you to the library, and then you can find yourself something to read."

He led the way across the hall, and as he opened the door of the apartment in question Isabel gave a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure.

"Oh, but what a lovely lot of books!" she said. "I should never have guessed you were so fond of reading."

"I'm not," said Tony. "I never read anything except Swinburne and The Autocar. Most of these belonged to my grandfather. Books were a kind of secret vice with him. He collected them all his life and left them to me in his will because he was quite sure they would never get any thumb-marks on them."

Isabel laughed softly, and advancing to the nearest case began to examine the titles. Tony watched her for a moment, and then strolling out into the hall, made his way back to the morning-room, where he pressed the electric bell.

"Spalding," he said, when that incomparable retainer answered his summons, "I have invited Miss Francis to make use of the house and garden as much as she pleases. When I am not in I shall be obliged if you will see that she has everything she wants."

Spalding's face remained superbly impassive. "Certainly, Sir Antony," he replied, with a slight bow.

"And send Bugg here," added Tony. "I want to speak to him before I go out."

Spalding withdrew, and after a moment or two had elapsed, "Tiger" appeared on the threshold hastily swallowing a portion of his interrupted lunch.

"Sorry to disturb you, Bugg," said Tony, "but I want you to do something for me, if you will."

"You on'y got to give it a naime, sir," observed the Tiger with a final and successful gulp.

"I want you to go out in the car this afternoon, as well as Jennings. Miss Francis is going to do some shopping, and it's just possible that the two gentlemen who were annoying her last night might try the same thing again."

Bugg's grey-green eyes opened in honest amazement. "Wot!" he exclaimed. "Ain't they 'ad enough yet? W'y if I'd knowed that I'd 'ave laid fur the tall one and give 'im another shove in the jaw w'en 'e come outer Court this mornin'." He paused and took an indignant breath. "Wot's their gaime any way, sir—chaisin' a young lidy like that?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know exactly, Bugg," he said, "but whatever it is I mean to put a stop to it. It is our duty to encourage a high moral standard amongst the inferior races."

"Cert'nly, sir," observed Bugg approvingly. "I always says with a German or a Daigo it's a caise of 'it 'im fust an' argue with 'im arterwards. You can't maike no mistake then, sir."

"It seems a good working principle," admitted Tony. "Still there are occasions in life when strategy—you know what strategy is, Bugg?——"

The other scratched his head. "Somethin' like gettin' a bloke to lead w'en 'e don't want to, sir," he hazarded.

"You have the idea," said Tony. "Well, as I was about to observe, there are occasions in life when strategy is invaluable. I am inclined to think that this is one of them."

Bugg eyed him with questioning interest. "Meanin' to sye, sir?"

"Meaning to say," added Tony, "that I should rather like to find out who these gentlemen are who are worrying Miss Francis. If we knew their names we might be able to bring a little moral pressure to bear on them. Knocking people down in the street is such an unchristian remedy—besides it gets one into trouble with the police."

"Then I ain't to shove it across 'em?" remarked Bugg in a slightly disappointed voice.

Tony shook his head. "Not unless they insist on it," he said. "As a matter of fact I don't think there is really much chance of your meeting them: it's only that I shall feel more comfortable if I know you are in the car."

Bugg nodded his comprehension. "That's all right, sir," he observed reassuringly. "I'll bring the young laidy back saife an' 'earty. You leave it ter me."

"Thank you, Bugg," said Tony. "I shall now be able to go round Brooklands with a light heart."

He strolled back to the library, where he found Isabel kneeling upon the broad window-seat looking into a book which she had taken down from a neighbouring shelf. She made a charming picture with her copper-coloured hair gleaming in the sunlight.

"Good-bye, Isabel," he said. "I wish I could see you again before to-morrow, but I am afraid there isn't much chance. I can't very well ask you to dinner because of Cousin Henry. He would rush away and tell all my relations and half the House of Commons."

A gleam of dismay flashed into Isabel's eyes.

"The House of Commons!" she repeated. "Is your cousin a statesman then, a—a—diplomat?"

"He is under that curious impression," said Tony.

Isabel laid her hand quickly upon his sleeve. "You mustn't let him know I am here. Promise me, won't you? Promise you won't even say that you have met me."

There was a frightened urgency in her demand that rilled Tony with a fresh surprise.

"Of course I promise," he said. "I have no intention of telling any one I have met you, and as for telling about you to Henry—well, I should as soon think of playing music to a bullock." He glanced up at the clock. "I must be off," he added. "I will bring the car round to-morrow and we will have a nice long run in the country. In the meanwhile try and remember that you've got absolutely nothing to be frightened about. You are as safe with us as if you were a thousand pound note in the Bank of England."

He gave her fingers an encouraging squeeze, and then leaving her looking after him with grateful eyes, he walked across the hall to the front door, where Jennings was standing beside the big Peugot.

"Jennings," said Tony, getting into the driving-seat, "I have arranged for you to take Miss Francis shopping this afternoon in the Rolls-Royce. Bugg and Mrs. Spalding will be coming with you."

"Very good, sir," responded Jennings joylessly.

"You will take Miss Francis to my bank first: after that she will give you her own instructions." He paused. "It's just possible you may meet with a little interference from a couple of foreign gentlemen. In that event I shall be obliged if you will assist Bugg in knocking them down."

Jennings' brow darkened. "If any one comes messin' around with my car," he observed bitterly, "I'll take a spanner to 'em quick. I don't hold with this here fist fighting: it's foolishness to my mind."

"Just as you please, Jennings," said Tony. "As the challenged party you will be fully entitled to choose your own weapons."

He slipped in his second speed, and gliding off down the drive emerged on to the Heath. The main road was thickly strewn with nursemaids, and elderly gentlemen, who had apparently selected it as a suitable spot from which to admire the famous view, but avoiding them with some skill, Tony reached the top of Haverstock Hill, and turned up to the right in the direction of the Spaldings' house.

His ring at the bell was answered by Mrs. Spalding herself—a respectable-looking woman of about forty. She welcomed Tony with a slightly flustered air of friendly deference.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Spalding," he said.

"Good-morning, Sir Antony," she replied. "Won't you step inside, sir?"

Tony shook his head. "I mustn't wait now. I have got to be at the Club in twenty minutes. I only came round to thank you for your kindness to Miss Francis. She tells me you have looked after her like a mother."

Mrs. Spalding seemed pleased, if a trifle embarrassed.

"I am very glad to have been of any service, Sir Antony. Not but what it's been a pleasure to do anything I could for Miss Francis. A very nice young lady, sir—and a real one, too, if I'm any judge of such matters."

"I think you're a first-class judge," said Tony, "and I am glad you like her, because I want her to stay on with you for a bit. The fact of the matter is—" he came a step nearer and his voice assumed a pleasantly confidential tone—"Miss Francis is an orphan, and she has been compelled to leave her guardian because he drinks and treats her badly. Besides he's a foreigner, and you know what most of them are like."

"Not a German, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Spalding feelingly.

"No, it's not quite as bad as that," said Tony. "Still he is a brute, and I have made up my mind to keep her out of his hands until her aunt comes back from America. If you will help us, I think we ought to be able to manage it all right."

The combined chivalry and candour of Tony's attitude in the affair evidently appealed to Mrs. Spalding's finer nature.

"I think you are acting very right, sir," she replied warmly. "A young lady like that didn't ought to be left in charge of a foreigner—let alone one who's given to the drink. If I can be of any assistance you can count on me, Sir Antony."

"Good!" said Tony. "Well, in the first place, if you can manage it, I want you to go shopping with her this afternoon in the car. She has to buy some clothes and things, and it isn't safe for her to be about in the West End alone. If she came across her guardian he would be quite likely to try and get her back by force."

"They're a desperate lot, some of them foreigners, when they're baulked," observed Mrs. Spalding seriously.

Tony nodded. "That's why I have arranged to send Bugg with you. There is not really much chance of your meeting with any interference, but just in case you did—well, you could leave him to discuss the matter, and come along home." He paused. "You won't let Miss Francis think I have been talking about her private affairs—will you?"

Mrs. Spalding made a dignified protest. "I shouldn't dream of no such thing, Sir Antony. I quite understand as you've been speaking to me in confidence."

Tony held out his hand, which, after a moment's respectful hesitation, the worthy woman accepted.

"Well, I am very much obliged to you, Mrs. Spalding," he said. "You have helped me out of a great difficulty." He stepped up into the driving-seat and took hold of the wheel. "The car will be coming round about half-past two," he added, "and I expect Miss Francis will be in it."

Mrs. Spalding curtseyed, and responding with a polite bow over the side, Tony released his brake and glided off down the hill.

He did not drive direct to the Club, for on reaching Oxford Street he made a short detour through Hanover Square, and pulled up outside Murdock and Mason, the long established and highly respectable firm of jewellers. He was evidently known there, for so sooner had he entered the shop than the senior partner, Mr. Charles Mason, a portly, benevolent old gentleman with a white beard, stepped forward to greet him.

"Good-morning, Sir Antony," he observed, smiling pleasantly through his gold-rimmed spectacles; "we haven't had the pleasure of seeing you for quite a long time. I trust you are keeping well?"

"I am very well indeed, thank you, Mr. Mason," said Tony. "In fact I am not at all sure I am not better than I deserve to be." He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out Isabel's brooch. "I have come to ask you if you will do me a kindness."

Mr. Mason beamed more affably than ever. "Anything in my power, at any time, Sir Antony."

"Well, I should like you to tell me how much this is worth. I don't want to sell it: I just want to find out its value."

Mr. Mason took the brooch, and adjusting his spectacles bent over it with professional deliberation. It was not long before he looked up again with a mingled expression of interest and surprise.

"I don't know whether you are aware of the fact, Sir Antony," he remarked, "but you have a very exceptional piece of old jewellery here. The stone is one of the finest emeralds I have ever seen, and as for the setting—" he again peered curiously at the delicate gold tracery—"well, I don't want to express an opinion too hastily, but I am inclined to put it down as ancient Moorish work of a remarkably beautiful kind." He paused. "I trust that you wouldn't consider it a liberty, Sir Antony, if I inquire whether you could tell me anything of its history."

"It belonged to my cousin's great-grandmother," said Tony placidly. "That's all I know about it at present."

"Indeed," said Mr. Mason, "indeed! It would be of great interest to discover where it was obtained from. A stone of this quality, to say nothing of its exceptionally rare setting, is almost bound to have attracted attention. I should not be surprised to find it had figured in the collection of some very eminent personage."

"What do you suppose it's worth?" asked Tony.

Mr. Mason hesitated for a moment. "Apart from any historical interest it may possess," he replied slowly, "I should put its value at something between five and seven thousand pounds."

"Really!" said Tony. "I had no idea my cousin's great-grandmother was so extravagant." He picked up the brooch. "I wonder if you could find me a nice strong case for it, Mr. Mason. Somebody might run into me at Brooklands this afternoon, and it would be a pity to get it chipped."

The old jeweller accepted the treasure with almost reverent care, and calling up one of his assistants entrusted it to the latter's charge. In a minute or so the man returned with a neatly fastened and carefully sealed little package, which Tony thrust into his pocket.

"Well, good-bye, Mr. Mason," he said, "and thank you so much. If I find out anything more about my cousin's great-grandmother I will let you know."

Bowing and beaming, Mr. Mason led the way to the door. "I should be most interested—most interested, Sir Antony. Such a remarkable piece of work must certainly possess a history. I shouldn't be surprised if it had belonged to any one—any one—from Royalty downwards."

Half-past twelve was just striking when Tony came out of the shop. The distance is not far from Bond Street to Covent Garden, but as intimate students of London are aware the route on occasions is apt to be a trifle congested. It was therefore about ten minutes after the appointed time when Tony pulled up outside the Cosmopolitan and jumping down from the car made his way straight through the hall to Donaldson's private sanctum, where the ceremony of settling up was invariably conducted.

The first person who met his eyes on entering the room was the Marquis da Freitas. Despite his rôle as payer-out that distinguished statesman appeared to be in the best of spirits, and was chatting away to a small knot of members that included "Doggy" Donaldson and Dick Fisher the referee. In a corner of the room, tastefully arrayed in a check suit and lemon-coloured gloves, lounged the slightly crestfallen figure of Mr. "Lightning" Lopez.

"I am so sorry to have kept you all waiting," said Tony. "I haven't even the excuse of having to come up from Richmond—like the Marquis."

Da Freitas, who was in the act of lighting a cigar, waved aside the apology with a characteristic gesture. "A few minutes' grace are always permissible, Sir Antony, except where a lady is concerned. As for my own punctuality—" he shrugged his shoulders and showed his white teeth in an amiable smile—"Well, I was staying at Claridge's last night, so I had even less distance to come than you."

"I am so sorry to have kept you waiting," said Tony. "I haven't even the excuse of having to come up from Richmond—like the Marquis." Da Freitas, who was in the act of lighting a cigar, waved aside the apology. "A few minutes' grace are always permissible, Sir Antony, except where a lady is concerned."

There was a short pause. "Well, as we are all here," broke in the genial rumble of "Doggy" Donaldson, "what d'ye say to gettin' to work? No good spinning out these little affairs—is it?"

This sentiment seeming to meet with general approval, the company seated themselves round the big table in the centre. The proceedings did not take long, for after Donaldson had written out a cheque for the stakes and purse, and handed fifty pounds, which represented the loser's end, to Lopez, there remained nothing else to do except to settle up private wagers. Tony, who was occupying the pleasant position of receiver-general, stuffed away the spoils into his pocket, and then following the time-honoured custom of the Club on such occasions, sent out for a magnum of champagne.

"I am sorry the King isn't with us," he observed to Da Freitas. "I should like to drink his health and wish him better luck next time."

"We all should!" exclaimed "Doggy" filling up his glass. "Gentlemen, here's to our distinguished fellow-member, King Pedro of Livadia, and may he soon get his own back on those dirty skunks who gave him the chuck."

A general chorus of "Hear, hear," "Bravo," greeted this elegant little ovation, for if Pedro himself had failed to inspire any particular affection in the Club, its members shared to the full that fine reverence for the Royal Principle which is invariably found amongst sportsmen, actors, licensed victuallers, and elderly ladies in boarding-houses.

The Marquis da Freitas acknowledged the toast with that easy and polished urbanity which distinguished all his actions.

"I can assure you, gentlemen," he observed, "that amongst the many agreeable experiences that have lightened His Majesty's temporary exile there is none that he will look back on with more pleasure than his association with the Cosmopolitan Club. It is His Majesty's earnest hope, and may I add mine also, that in the happy and I trust not far distant days when our at present afflicted country has succeeded in ridding herself of traitors and oppressors we shall have the opportunity of returning some portion of that hospitality which has been so generously lavished on us in England. I can only add that there will never be any visitors to Livadia more welcome to us than our friends of the Cosmopolitan Club."

A heartfelt outburst of applause greeted these sentiments—the idea of being the personal guests of a reigning sovereign distinctly appealing to the members present.

"I hope he means it," whispered "Doggy" Donaldson in Tony's ear. "I'd like to see a bit of bull fightin', and they tell me the Livadian gals—" He smacked his lips thoughtfully as though in anticipation of what might be accomplished under the ægis of a royal patron.

Having created this favourable impression the Marquis da Freitas looked at his watch and announced that he must be going. Tony, who had promised to lunch at Brooklands before the trial, also rose to take his departure, and together they passed out of the room and down the corridor.

As they reached the hall, the swing door that led out into the street was suddenly pushed open and a man in a frock coat and top hat strode into the Club. He was a remarkable-looking gentleman—not unlike an elderly and fashionably dressed edition of Don Quixote. A dyed imperial and carefully corseted figure gave him at first sight the appearance of being younger than he really was, but his age could not have been far short of sixty.

The most striking thing about him, however, was his obvious agitation. His face was worried and haggard, and his hands were switching nervously like those of a man suffering from some uncontrollable mental excitement.

He came straight across the hall towards the porter's box, and then catching sight of Da Freitas turned towards him with an involuntary interjection of relief.

"Oh, you are here," he exclaimed. "Thank God I——"

He paused abruptly as he suddenly perceived Tony in the background, and at the same instant the Marquis stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"My dear fellow," he said in that smooth, masterful voice of his, "how good of you to look me up! Come along in here and have a chat."

On the right of the hall was a small room specially reserved for the entertainment of visitors, and before the stranger could have uttered another syllable—even if he had wished to, the Marquis had drawn him across the threshold and closed the door behind them.

For several seconds Tony remained where he was, contemplating the spot where they had disappeared. Then, with that pleasant, unhurried smile of his, he pulled out his case, and slowly and thoughtfully lighted himself a cigarette.

"One might almost imagine," he observed, "that Da Freitas didn't want to take me into his confidence."

CHAPTER VII
BUGG'S STRATEGY

There was a knock outside.

"Come in," said Tony, who was arranging his tie in front of the glass.

The door opened, and Guy Oliver walked into the bedroom. He was in evening dress, which if possible made him look more sedate than ever.

"Hullo, Guy!" said Tony; "I am afraid I am a little late. Is Cousin Henry fuming on the mat?"

Guy shook his head. "He hasn't turned up yet: it's only just gone half-past." He seated himself on the end of the bed. "How did you get on at Brooklands?" he asked.

Tony stepped back from the glass and contemplated his tie with some satisfaction.

"I had quite a cheerful day," he replied. "I managed to squeeze eighty-six out of her, and finished up by breaking the back-axle."

Guy nodded grimly. "You will break your neck some day," he observed, "and then I suppose you will be satisfied."

"I doubt it," said Tony; "not if our present theology is anything approaching accurate." He picked up a dinner-jacket from the bed and began slowly to put it on. "Besides," he added thoughtfully, "I shouldn't like to die just yet. I think I see a chance of doing a little good in the world."

Guy looked at him suspiciously. "Who was that girl you had to breakfast with you?" he asked.

"Really, Guy!" said Tony, "you get more cynical every day." He crossed to the washstand, and taking a carnation out of its glass proceeded to arrange it in his button-hole.

"But who is she?" persisted Guy.

"She is my adopted cousin. Her name is Isabel—Isabel Francis. I adopted her after breakfast this morning."

There was a short pause. Then in a faintly ironical voice Guy observed: "Since she appears to be a relation of mine also, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me where and when you met her."

"Not in the least," said Tony imperturbably. "We met each other in Long Acre last night at about a quarter to eleven."

"Where?" exclaimed Guy.

"Long Acre," repeated Tony. "It's a popular thoroughfare running out of Leicester Square." He watched his cousin's face for a moment with some enjoyment, and then added: "If you would try to look less like the recording angel I might tell you all about it."

"Go on," said Guy.

Tony paused to light a cigarette, and then seated himself on the bed. "It was like this," he began. "Bugg and I were coming down Long Acre after the fight, when we saw Isabel being—being—what's the word—'accosted' by a couple of gentlemen who looked like dressed-up organ-grinders. As an Englishman and a baronet I thought it was my duty to interfere.

"You would," said Guy with conviction.

"Leaving Bugg to knock down the two gentlemen," proceeded Tony tranquilly, "I took Isabel to supper at Verrier's. We had a very good supper. There was——"

"Never mind about the supper," interrupted Guy. "How did she come to be having breakfast with you this morning?"

"What a dreadfully direct mind you have," complained Tony. "There is no pleasure in telling you a story." He paused. "The fact was," he added, "that Isabel had nowhere to sleep, so I brought her back to Mrs. Spalding's."

"You what?" demanded Guy.

"I brought her back to Mrs. Spalding's. I couldn't very well bring her here: I knew it would shock you. That's the worst of having a thoughtful nature like mine."

"I say, is all this true?" asked Guy.

"Of course it is," said Tony. "Perfectly true. I couldn't invent anything half so interesting."

"You mean to say that you picked up a girl in Long Acre, and that you've actually brought her back and—and established her at the Spaldings'!"

"My dear Guy!" said Tony. "Please don't talk like that. It reminds me of one of Hall Caine's heroes." He stopped to flick the ash off his cigarette. "You've seen Isabel. You surely don't think she is an abandoned adventuress, do you?"

"No," said Guy. "I never suggested it: at least I never meant to. She seemed quite a nice girl in her way, but—but—well, who is she, and what on earth is she doing wandering about London without any friends?"

"I don't know," said Tony. "I think she has run away from somewhere and doesn't want to go back. The only thing I am certain about is that she had a very extravagant great-grandmother."

Guy got up from the bed. "Well," he said, "I have seen you do some fairly insane things in my time, but this is about the limit. Why the girl may be anything or anybody."

"I know," interrupted Tony. "It's the uncertainty that makes it so exciting."

"But think of the position you're putting yourself in! Suppose she has run away from school and her parents were to trace her here, why there would be a scandal that would ruin the family!"

"Well, what do you think I ought to do?" asked Tony. "Turn her out again into the cold hard world?"

Guy shrugged his shoulders. "You must do what you like," he said. "I'm not going to accept any responsibility. I have given you my opinion, and if you don't choose——"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed almost immediately by the appearance of Spalding, who was carrying a note upon a small silver tray. He crossed the room and proffered the letter to Tony.

"Mr. Conway has just arrived, Sir Antony," he remarked. "He is in the drawing-room."

"What's this?" asked Tony, picking up the note.

"I believe it is a communication from Bugg, Sir Antony. Mrs. Spalding brought it round."

Tony turned to his cousin. "You might go down and kiss Henry, will you, Guy?" he said. "I will be with you in a second."

Guy left the room, and tearing open the envelope, Tony took out the letter inside. It was written in a sprawling, illiterate hand, and beautifully innocent of either stops or capitals.

sir i and the young lady come home safe but i spotted one of them forin blokes hanging round the corner of the street so i says to meself I'd better stop here till i heres from you becos i think he may be after the young lady and Mrs S. says its all rite and i can sleep in the kitchin and hoping i done rite your obedient servent tiger bugg the young lady didnt spot the bloke.

Tony read this interesting missive through with extreme care and then looked up at the expressionless face of Spalding.

"For various reasons," he said, "it would be very convenient if Bugg could sleep at your house for the next day or so. I suppose you would have no objection if your wife approved?"

"None at all, Sir Antony," replied Spalding. "I make it a point never to object to anything of which Mrs. Spalding approves."

Tony regarded him thoughtfully. "I should imagine you were a most considerate husband, Spalding," he said.

"Yes, sir," said Spalding. "My wife sees to that, sir."

Folding up the note and putting it in his pocket, Tony made his way downstairs to the drawing-room, where he found Guy in conversation with a heavily-built, pink-faced, stolid-looking man of about forty years of age. This was Henry Conway, a first cousin of both Tony and Guy, and an intensely serious and painstaking member of the House of Commons. He had married Lady Laura Crampton, the plain but public-spirited daughter of the Earl of Kent—an alliance which had been of considerable assistance to them both in their disinterested efforts in behalf of the general welfare.

"Hullo, Henry," said Tony, coming forward with a well-assumed air of pleasure. "I am so sorry to be late. How's Laura?"

Henry shook hands.

"Laura is fairly well, thank you, Tony," he replied. "I think she's a little overtaxed her strength in working up this new league for closing the public-houses to women, but no doubt she will soon be herself again. Her recuperative powers are wonderful, quite wonderful."

"I know," said Tony. "I suppose the feeling that one is promoting the happiness of one's fellow-creatures acts as a sort of stimulus."

Henry nodded, and taking out his handkerchief blew his nose resonantly. "If it were not for that," he observed, "the strain of public life would at times be almost intolerable."

There was a short pause, broken by the opportune appearance of Spalding with the announcement that dinner was ready.

Throughout the meal the conversation remained fairly general. Henry was rich in that type of intelligence which enables its possessor to discourse copiously and decisively upon every possible topic without puzzling the listener by introducing subtle or original views. Politics in some shape or other were of course his principal theme, and in view of Guy's warning, Tony expected every moment that the menacing question of Balham North would obtrude itself above the horizon. Apparently, however, in Henry's opinion, the presence of Spalding acted as a barrier, and it was not until dinner was finished and they were sitting alone over their coffee and cigars that he began to approach the subject which was really the cause of his visit.

"I understand," he said turning to Tony, "that Guy has more or less acquainted you with the steps that I have been taking in your interest."

Tony nodded. "It's exceedingly kind of you, Henry," he said. "The only thing is I haven't quite made up my mind yet whether I have the necessary qualifications for a successful statesman."

Henry's eyebrows contracted. "I was under the impression," he said, "that we had already settled that part of the affair."

"You and Laura may have settled it," replied Tony. "In important matters of this sort I always prefer a little time for reflection."

Henry pushed back his chair from the table. "And may I inquire," he asked with an obvious attempt at irony, "what you would consider 'a little time'? It seems to me that six years ought to be a sufficient period in which to decide what one intends to do with one's self." He paused. "Unless, of course, you prefer to go on doing nothing."

"Nothing!" echoed Tony reprovingly. "My dear Henry! What a way in which to describe my multifarious activities."

With the stern self-control engendered by a public career Henry managed to keep his temper. "I am speaking of useful and serious work in the world," he replied. "You did your duty in the war certainly, but since then you seem to have devoted your life entirely to frivolous amusements."

"There is precious little frivolity about motor-racing," objected Tony. "You should have been with me to-day when the back-axle went."

"Thank you," said Henry stiffly. "I have something better to do with my time." He looked across at Guy. "I think you agree with me that the manner in which Tony is wasting his life is nothing short of deplorable."

"Certainly I do," said Guy. "I was telling him so at dinner last night."

Henry nodded. "The whole family are of the same opinion." He turned back to Tony. "It isn't as if you were a private individual and able to do what you please. A great position has its obligations as well as its privileges. The Conways have always played an important part in public life, and as head of the family it is your duty to see that this tradition is maintained."

Tony looked at him with a certain amount of admiration. "If I only had your gifts, Henry," he said, "I shouldn't hesitate a moment, but I don't believe I could ever learn to talk as you do."

Henry acknowledged the compliment with a pleased if slightly patronizing smile. "Oh, I don't know," he observed more graciously. "I believe you have considerable ability if you chose to exercise it. Of course one can't expect to become a finished speaker all in a moment, but it's wonderful what a little practice and experience will do. Besides you would have the benefit of my advice and assistance from the start."

"I am sure I should," said Tony, "and Laura's, too, I expect."

Henry nodded. "No one is more interested in your future than Laura is. It was her original idea that I should bring your name forward for Balham North. You can count on having her by your side through the whole campaign."

"It's my belief," interrupted Guy a little hastily, "that Tony would thoroughly enjoy an election. The element of fighting about it ought to suit him exactly."

"I wish it was some other place than Balham North though," observed Tony pensively. "I can't see myself saying 'Men of Balham!' with just the proper ring that the phrase ought to have."

Henry looked at him a shade mistrustfully. "I only hope," he replied, "that you intend to approach the matter in a serious spirit. I have gone out of my way to put your name forward, and it might do me a great deal of harm politically, if you choose to make a deliberate fiasco of it."

With a reassuring smile, Tony pushed the port towards him.

"Don't you worry, Henry," he said. "When I take a thing up I always carry it through decently and properly, don't I, Guy?"

"You carry it through, certainly," admitted the latter.

"Then I understand," said Henry refilling his glass, "that I can inform Headquarters you are prepared to contest the seat at the next election."

There was a short pause.

"I suppose so," said Tony. "If it will really give the family so much pleasure I haven't the heart to refuse. I am afraid it will mean a lot of extra work for Guy, though."

"You needn't mind about me," put in Guy unsympathetically.

"And how does one start?" asked Tony. "I have read somewhere about people nursing a constituency. Do we have to go down and nurse Balham?"

Henry shook his head. "There is no hurry," he said. "Sir George Wilmer has given us a private hint that he means to retire at the next election, but he is not going to make his intention public until Christmas. Properly used, this time will be invaluable to you."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "I shall enjoy a last run round before becoming an M.P. One has got to be so devilish careful what one does then."

"I was referring rather," said Henry with some coldness, "to the opportunity it will afford you of preparing yourself for your new position. If you choose to work hard you might by that time have put yourself in the way of becoming a useful and desirable acquisition to the House."

"Why, of course," said Tony. "I never thought of looking at it like that." He paused. "What would you advise me to work at?"

"If I were you," said Henry, "I should take up some special subject—it doesn't much matter what it is—foreign affairs, temperance, agriculture—anything which is frequently before the House. Make yourself more or less of an authority on that, and then you will have a recognized position from the very start." He stopped to consult his watch. "I am afraid I shall have to be going," he added. "I have promised to look in and say a few words to the West Hampstead Anti-Vivisection League, who are holding their annual meeting to-night, and it's getting on for ten o'clock now." He got up and held out a large, white, soft hand, which Tony accepted with a certain physical reluctance that hands of that sort always inspired in him.

"I am pleased—very pleased," continued Henry, "that you are at last beginning to realize the responsibilities of your position. When the time comes you may rest assured that Laura and I will give you any assistance in our power. In the meantime, if you want any advice about what to read or study, you can't do better than to talk it over with Guy."

Tony nodded again. "I expect we shall have lots of interesting chats together," he said.

He rang the bell for Henry's car, and accompanying his cousin into the hall, helped him on with his coat. They stood talking in the doorway until a well-appointed Daimler brougham rolled up noiselessly to the porch, and then with another handshake and a final good-night Tony returned to the dining-room.

He sat down heavily in his lately vacated chair. "If you have any real love for me, Guy," he said, "you will pass me the brandy."

Guy handed across a delicately shaped old Venetian decanter, out of which Tony helped himself in generous fashion.

"If I had an inn," he observed, "I should pay Henry to sit in the bar parlour and talk about politics. I am sure he would drive the customers to drink."

In spite of himself Guy smiled. "I think you are very unfair and very ungrateful," he replied serenely. "Henry may be a little pompous at times, but after all he means well, and he has your best interests at heart."

Tony lit himself another cigar. "All my relations have," he said, "and the worst of it is, it's such a horribly infectious complaint. If I am not uncommonly careful I shall be catching it myself."

"You have managed to resist it pretty successfully so far," observed Guy drily.

"I know," said Tony, "but that doesn't make me feel really safe. There is a sort of natural tendency to take one's self seriously in the Conway blood, and you can never be certain it won't suddenly come bursting out. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if I finished up by getting the Victorian Order, and the freedom of Manchester."

"I suppose you do really mean to stand?" said Guy after a short pause.

"I suppose so," replied Tony. "I think I would agree to do anything rather than argue with Henry."

He pushed back his chair and finishing off the brandy in his glass, rose to his feet.

"Going out?" asked Guy.

Tony nodded. "Just for a few minutes. It's a very important step in one's life to become a member of Parliament—especially for Balham North. I am going to have a little quiet meditation beneath the stars."

Guy looked at him disbelievingly. "Umph!" he observed, and taking out his favourite after-dinner smoke—a short, well-seasoned briar pipe, began methodically to fill it from his pouch.

Leaving him to this innocent luxury, Tony crossed the hall, and without troubling to pick up a hat sauntered leisurely out of the house and down the drive. It was a perfect night. Under a sky of inky blue, powdered with stars, the Heath lay dark and silent, as if dreaming regretfully of those far gone spacious times when the mounted highwaymen lurked amongst its bushes.

The only people who lurked there at present were much too occupied with each other to pay any attention to Tony. With his cigar glowing pleasantly in the darkness he strolled slowly across the grass in the direction of the water-works, which stood up in a clear-cut, black mass against the clearness of the night sky.

A few yards further brought him to the end of the quiet road in which the Spaldings' house was situated. It was overshadowed by trees, but in the light of a street lamp some little way down, he caught sight of a solitary, bare-headed figure leaning over one of the front gates. Even at that distance he could recognize the familiar features of "Tiger" Bugg.

As Tony came up, the future world's champion lifted the latch, and stepped out noiselessly on to the pavement to meet him.

"I guessed it was you, sir," he observed in a low voice. "You didn't 'appen to spot no one 'angin' abaht under them trees as you come along?"

Tony shook his head, and seated himself on the low wall with his back to the railings. "No, Bugg," he said. "The road seemed to me distinctly empty."

Under the lamp-light, "Tiger's" face assumed an expression of disappointment. "Ah!" he remarked, "I reckon they've spotted I'm layin' for 'em arter all." He paused. "You got my letter, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Bugg," said Tony. "I want you to tell me all about it."

"I don't know as there's very much to tell, sir," responded Bugg modestly. "It was like this 'ere, sir. The young laidy done 'er shopping nice and comf'table, and there 'adn't bin no sign of any one 'anging arahnd or wantin' to maike trouble. We wos comin' back in the car and I was just thinkin' to meself as things was all right, w'en Jennings swung 'er a bit lively rahnd that bottom corner there,"—he jerked his thumb away down the road—"and all of a sudden I seed a 'ead dodgin' back be'ind one o' them big trees. 'E was quick, but 'e weren't quite quick enough for me. I knew 'is dirty faice the moment I set me eyes on it. It was the other Daigo—the one that copped a shove in the jaw last night and done a buck w'en the rozzers come."

"You don't think Miss Francis saw him?" interrupted Tony.

Bugg shook his head. "No one seen 'im except me, sir; and I didn't say nothin', not bein' wishful to frighten the young laidy. Besides, it come into me 'ead wot you'd said abaht leadin' 'em on like, so I jest sits w'ere I was till we reaches the 'ouse, an' then I gets out an' goes inside saime as if I 'adn't seen nothing. I 'ope I done right, sir?"

"Sherlock Holmes couldn't have done righter," observed Tony. "I wonder how the devil they've found out the house though."

Bugg scratched his ear. "Well, sir, I bin thinkin 'it over like, sir, and I reckon they must ha' followed me this mornin', w'en I come up from the Court."

Tony looked at him admiringly. "Bugg," he said, "you are growing positively brilliant. I have no doubt that's the correct explanation. They were probably hanging about outside Goodman's Rest and saw Miss Francis come back here in the car." He paused and took a thoughtful draw at his cigar. "I suppose they're waiting for a chance to get her alone again."

Bugg nodded. "That's abaht it, sir; and that's w'y I thought I'd best stop on 'ere. I see Mrs. Spalding knew something o' wot was up, so I gives 'er the orfice straight abaht 'avin' spotted the bloke be'ind the tree, and she suggests as I should write to you an' she'll taike the letter rahnd." He cleared his throat, and expectorated in the gutter. "And that's 'ow things are, sir, in a manner o' speaking."

Tony knocked the ash off his cigar and got up from his seat.

"I am vastly obliged to you, Bugg," he said. "You are an ideal secretary for a knight errant." He looked up at the house, the windows of which were in darkness. "Have they gone to bed?" he asked.

"I think the young laidy's turned in, sir," replied Bugg. "I reckon she was tired buyin' all them 'ats and things. Mrs. Spalding's abaht, if ye'd like to see 'er, sir."

He opened the gate for Tony, and they walked up the narrow cobbled path which led to the house. The front door was ajar, and just as they entered Mrs. Spalding appeared in the passage, with a can of hot water in her hand. She put it down on seeing Tony, and with her usual air of slightly flustered deference, opened the door of Isabel's sitting-room, and invited him to "step inside."

"I am not going to keep you up, Mrs. Spalding," he said cheerfully. "I only came round in answer to Bugg's letter. It struck me that you might possibly be feeling a little nervous, and I shouldn't like to think that you were being worried in any way about my affairs."

His consideration evidently touched Mrs. Spalding deeply.

"Oh, please to put your mind at ease about that, Sir Antony," she observed. "As long as Bugg's on the premises it doesn't frighten me if people choose to hang about outside the house."

"Of course," said Tony, pursuing his advantage, "if you would rather, I could probably arrange to get rooms for Miss Francis somewhere else. The only thing is her guardian would most certainly find out, and Heaven knows what might happen to her then!"

The good woman made a gesture of protest. "You mustn't think of it, Sir Antony," she declared. "I wouldn't never forgive myself if that sweet young lady was got back by them foreigners. I've taken a rare liking to her, Sir Antony, and it's an honour and a pleasure to be of any assistance. I was saying as much to Spalding to-night, an' he agreed with me every word."

Tony launched an inward blessing on Spalding's philosophic theories about matrimonial happiness.

"Well, if you both feel like that," he said, "I shall go on taking advantage of your kindness. It won't be for long, because Miss Francis' aunt is bound to be coming back soon. In the meanwhile,"—he turned to include Bugg, who, with his usual tact, had remained modestly on the doorstep, "we will soon put a stop to this spying business. I am not going to have dirty looking people popping in and out behind trees anywhere near my house. The rates are much too high to put up with that sort of thing." He stopped to take another puff at his cigar, which he had nearly allowed to go out. "I suppose Miss Francis has gone to bed?" he asked.

Mrs. Spalding nodded. "It's what you might call tiring work—shopping is, Sir Antony, especially when a young lady's used to having most things done for her, as I can see Miss Francis is." She paused. "I was just taking her up some hot water when you came in," she added.

"Really," said Tony; "well, we mustn't keep it waiting about or it will be losing its character." He turned towards the door. "By the way," he added, "you might tell Miss Francis that if she would care for a motor drive to-morrow I should be delighted to take her. I daresay she will be coming round in the morning and we can fix up the time then."

Mrs. Spalding promised to deliver the message, and wishing her good-night, Tony sauntered off down the drive, with his hand on Bugg's shoulder. They came to a halt at the gate.

"It's an undignified position for the future champion of England to be acting as a watch-dog, Bugg," he said, "but having put our hands to the plough—" He broke off and remained for a moment or two thoughtfully contemplating the star-spangled stretch of firmament which was visible between the trees.

With an expression of patient interest, Bugg waited for him to continue.

"Let us summarize the situation, Bugg," he said gravely. "Then we shall know exactly where we are." He paused. "For some reason, which I don't understand any more than you do at present, those two gentlemen we had the pleasure of introducing ourselves to in Long Acre appear to be very anxious to meet Miss Francis alone. Well, she doesn't want to be met, and considering their faces I sympathize with her taste. That's all we know, and until we can find out something more there doesn't seem very much to be done. We must just keep Miss Francis properly watched and guarded, and see if we can pick up any information about our pals outside." He paused again. "I think it's just on the cards we might have a little quiet fun with them before long, Bugg," he added pensively.

Bugg gave an appreciative grin and nodded his head. "You can leave the watchin' and guardin' part to me, sir. They won't get no talk with the young laidy—not while she's in this 'ouse."

"I believe you, Bugg," said Tony, "and to-morrow morning, when she comes to Goodman's Rest, you might walk across the Heath with her." He opened the gate and stepped out on to the pavement. "Good-night," he added. "I shall go back to bed now. To be really successful as a knight errant one requires plenty of sleep."

"Yes, sir," said Bugg. "Good-night, sir."

It was exactly a quarter to eleven by the big oak clock in the hall when Tony re-entered his house. He shut the front door behind him, and walking across looked into the dining-room and study to see if Guy were still up. Both rooms were empty, and he was just on the point of going upstairs when the silence of the house was suddenly broken by the sharp, aggressive ringing of a bell.

It came from the telephone which hung beside the mantelpiece on the further side of the hall.

CHAPTER VIII
AFFAIRS IN LIVADIA

Tony retraced his steps and took down the receiver.

"Hullo!" he said.

"Hullo!" came back a silvery answer. "Is that you, Tony?"

"It is. Who's speaking?"

"It's me."

"Really!" said Tony. "Which me? I know several with beautiful voices."

A little ripple of laughter floated down the wire. "Don't be funny, Tony. It's Molly—Molly Monk. I want to see you."

"The longing is a mutual one," observed Tony. "I was just going to bed, but it's a morbid custom. Suppose I come along in the car instead and take you out to supper?"

"I'd love it," answered Molly regretfully, "but I'm afraid it can't be done. I have promised to go on and sing at one of Billy Higginson's evenings. He is the only composer in London who can write a tune." She paused. "What about to-morrow?"

"To-morrow," said Tony, "is also a day."

"Well, I am going out to lunch, but I do want to see you if you could manage it. Couldn't you run over in the car and look me up some time in the morning? I'll give you a small bottle of champagne if you will."

"I don't want any bribing," said Tony with dignity. "Is it good champagne?"

"Very good," said Molly. "It's what I keep for dramatic critics."

"I think I might be able to come then. What is it you want to see me about?"

"Oh, I'll tell you to-morrow," came back the answer. "I really mustn't stop now because Daisy Grey's waiting for me in her car. Thanks so much. It's awfully dear of you, Tony. Good-night."

"Good-night," said Tony, and replacing the receiver upon its hook, he resumed his interrupted progress to bed.

It was just after half-past ten the next morning, when Guy, while busily engaged in drawing up a lease in his office, was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called out, and in answer to his summons, Tony, wearing a grey plush hat and motoring gloves, sauntered into the room. He looked round with an air of leisurely interest.

"Good-morning, Guy," he said. "I like interrupting you at this time. I always feel I am throwing you out for the entire day."

Guy laid down his pen.

"It's a harmless delusion," he observed, "and if it gets you out of bed——"

"Oh, that didn't get me out of bed. It was an appointment I have to keep." He walked across to the fireplace and helped himself to a cigarette from a box on the mantlepiece. "Are you feeling in a sympathetic mood this morning, Guy?"

The latter shook his head. "Not particularly. Why?"

Tony struck a match. "Well, it's like this. I have invited our cousin Isabel to come round and see me, and now I find myself unexpectedly compelled to go out. What's more I don't know how long it will be before I get back." He paused and looked at Guy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Do you think I can trust you to be kind and gentle with her?"

Guy adjusted his pince-nez and looked across at Tony with some sternness.

"I have already told you, Tony," he said, "that I disapprove very strongly of this impossible escapade of yours. You don't know what trouble it may lead you into. For a man who wants to get into Parliament any kind of scandal is absolutely fatal."

"But I don't want to go into Parliament," objected Tony. "I am doing it to oblige Henry, and for the good of the nation. As for this—what was the beautiful word you used, Guy—'escapade'—you surely wouldn't have me back out from motives of funk?"

Guy shrugged his shoulders. "You can please yourself about it," he said, "but it's no good asking me to help you. As I've told you before, I decline to mix myself up with it in any way."

"But you can't," persisted Tony; "at least not without being horribly rude. I have introduced you to Isabel and she thinks you're charming. She will be sure to ask for you when she hears I am out." He paused. "You wouldn't be a brute to her would you, Guy? You wouldn't throw her out of the house or anything like that?"

Guy's lips tightened. "I should certainly let her see that I disapproved very strongly of the whole episode," he said. "Still you needn't worry about that, because I have not the least intention of meeting her."

He picked up his pen and began to resume his work.

"Yours is a very hard nature, Guy," said Tony sadly. "I think it's the result of never having known a woman's love."

To this Guy did not condescend to answer, and after looking at him for a moment with a grieved expression, Tony sauntered downstairs to the front door.

Outside stood the Hispano-Suiza—a long, slim, venomous-looking white car—with Jennings in attendance. Tony stepped in and took possession of the wheel.

"I shall probably be back in about an hour, Jennings," he said, "and very likely I shall be going out again afterwards. I don't know which car I shall want, so you had better have them all ready."

Jennings touched his cap with the expression of a resigned lemon ice, and pressing the electric starter Tony glided off down the drive.

He reached Basil Mansions just on the stroke of eleven. Leaving the car in the courtyard he walked across to Molly's flat, where the door was answered by the beautiful French maid, who looked purer than ever in the healthy morning sunshine.

As he entered the flat, Molly appeared in the hall. She was wearing a loose garment of green silk, caught together at the waist by a gold girdle. As a breakfast robe it erred perhaps on the side of the fantastic, but it had the merit of showing off her red hair to the best possible advantage.

"You nice old thing, Tony," she said. "I know you hate getting up early, too."

"I don't mind if there is anything to get up for," said Tony. "It's the barrenness of the morning that puts me off as a rule."

Molly slipped her bare arm through his, and led him into the sitting-room.

"You shall open the champagne," she said. "That will give you an interest in life."

She brought him up to a little satin-wood table, on which stood a silver tray, with some glasses and a couple of small bottles of Heidsieek. Tony looked at the labels.

Tony looked at the labels. "And do you mean to say," he remarked a little reproachfully, "that you really waste this on dramatic critics?" "I give them the choice," said Molly gravely. "They can either have that, or hold my hand. So far, they have always chosen the champagne."

TheLady from Long Acre

CHAPTER I"TIGER" BUGG VERSUS "LIGHTNING" LOPEZ

CHAPTER IITHE MORALS OF MOLLY

CHAPTER IIITWO YELLOW-FACED FOREIGNERS

CHAPTER IVLIKE A FAIRY STORY

CHAPTER VTHE LENIENCY OF JUSTICE

CHAPTER VIPRICING AN HEIRLOOM

CHAPTER VIIBUGG'S STRATEGY

CHAPTER VIIIAFFAIRS IN LIVADIA

The
Lady from Long Acre

CHAPTER I
"TIGER" BUGG VERSUS "LIGHTNING" LOPEZ

CHAPTER II
THE MORALS OF MOLLY

CHAPTER III
TWO YELLOW-FACED FOREIGNERS

CHAPTER IV
LIKE A FAIRY STORY

CHAPTER V
THE LENIENCY OF JUSTICE

CHAPTER VI
PRICING AN HEIRLOOM

CHAPTER VII
BUGG'S STRATEGY

CHAPTER VIII
AFFAIRS IN LIVADIA