No Trumps

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 21, 22 May 1912, Page 42

No Trumps

By

E ORD DE LYS laid down the third paper, and meditatively lit a cigarette. lie had plunged into the frolic lightly, and now he had come to a point at which he must either go on or turn bis back upon a fas, mating opening. In the agony column of the first of the newspapers lying on his table was an advertisement which he had marked in red. It ran thus: I’ . M urgently legged to l ommuni- ' Doris. F.C.. he recalled, had arrested his passing eye, as being the initials of his t hri-:ian and his family name—Francis t barmian. That, he supposed was why he .>. I answered the advertisement. In t e .’.g :iv olumn of the second paper, ] ni l - led'two davs later, appeared this: I'. ■s. Will keep appointment anywhere. F.C. Fhat whis, de Lys’s, Ilunge into some affair that obviously did not belong to him. Yet Doris had begged F.C. to commun: ate. and IX*. had eommunieat,l. Hu re was nothing immoral or . keg in this, he retie. te I. that I rought him to advertisement number • ■ which was as foil s: FC. Serpent < Bi ge, eight thirty t. -night. ‘ Doris. IL- sat meditating for a few minutes, and t he rose, ■ 1 • • "■ the spi ng sunshine in the square, an I dis- > -- ■ 1 the matter fi m his mind. After all. it was ten o'c-loek of an April m . - ing. nd tme .sn< t ma le t■ be wastH - nt the day agri ably, dined ligiitiv and earlv at home, and by eight k was in the street in the twilight. He walked all the way through Kuigl tsbridge and by Hyde Park until ime to Queen's Gate. Then he turned • into the park where the road es it fr m Ke singt n Gardens and leads ■ er the Se rpent ine. It was by th:- time fairly dark, but the lamps were lit. and he could make out the •_ ■ ' man leai ng over the bridge 1 e a, r .. h« d it, th ugh be could determine no more than this. Cars rattled by; an ele trie brougham, wed lighi I, ’ ■ past with a pleasant jingb <■: be! He took up ids station by net f th< bridgi md waite I tchful .... X< under the lam . t. ■ old make out the man's figure more clearly, le g. .- it a- ov< i 1 waid the I it was ■ a man of i vas search. His glan -■ passed on and tried t the obscurity of th< bridge. H< ild set < ■ con ' _ . - ■ ■_ there '• two rs beyond; move I si . - - Xo ■ was visibl : th _ save the bent fig ed . k to his f mat r positi n, ai I it a mat .. st u k it and exam - itch. It was twenty-five min ites to nine. . Sud I< nly, with the extinguishing of the match, the flare of w’ . . had larkened all about him, a n:.»ri a:;- .red cut of nowhere, an 1 stood by him. It was not the figure on the br.dge. which was still r-ronching there. "FX‘.?” asked the newcomer, in a low “I don't suppose you’re Doris?” said de Lys. examining him as carefully as he miaht in the darkness. ”Xo. but I am come from her." said the stranger quickly. "If - you stre F.C. will you please come with me.7 said le Ly as th • other was moving off. "What guarantee have I that you come fr> m Doris?” ‘•For one thing, the far that I am here," said the man abruptly. “For another—this.” As an ungloved hand, on a fihgei of which De Lys went tgh tte form f -- was al rat to express himself as satisfied n ei tered .. - Im il. “Yes, I see." lie -aid. “but. ;nir! ii me. I I nk I Iglit to hare iurge ..f that.’’ ' ; ■ it—’ fhere seemed' a tone, but lie pa ise I. "Very well" he said after a moment's he-itation. “You shall have it, and return .• to the proper quarter.’ _• de Lys slipped it on hi« own. “X'ow, I am ready,” he announced. They walked in silence to the street,

H. B. MARRIOTT WATSON.

when the stranger hailed a eib. The lights of the street had revealed to de Lys some facts about his conductor. For one thing, he was a man of fifty, epare and gray, ami he was obviously’ a gentleman, lu the cab he made out other things, as, for example, that the strangers lips were narrow, and his eyes hard and curiously lighted: his jaw full and firm for so slight a head. He turned on de Lys as the latter was making three observations. “You do not ask me any questions,'’ he said abruptly. "No; why should I?" said de Lys. “You are taking me to Doris.” Something like a frown ruffled the other's brow, and after a little he spoke again. "You don't ask me who I am.” "Perhaps I know —or can guess,” seemed a safe answer, and was the safer for its pendant, "If I am going to Doris nothing matters.” Again the elderly stranger seemed perturbed. He drummed his fingers on the window for a moment, and then suddenly withdrew his hand, and sat back as if he had eome to a eon-clusion. De Lys watched him out of eyes that seemed to be busy elsewhere and followed his example of silence. He had a certain misgiving and a much greater wonder. He had not be able to overhear the directions given to the cabman, and he oceup-ie 1 himself with an endeavour to trace the wav thev were taking.

He identified the main streets at first, but lost his bearings presently in a maze of Kensington Roads. He only knew vaguely that they must be somewhere in the centre of the garden distr: t of Kensington. Then the cab drew up. anl his guide got out. De Lys followed, and mounted the steps which led to the door of a considerable house. The door banged loud behind him as t ie stranger closed it. "I think,” he said with that firm equableness whieh he had shown before, "that this will be the best plate.” De Lys followed him through one large room into a smaller one beyond, both of which were softly lighted. "Sit down, please,” said the stranger. “A little conversation is. I fancy, neees-ary between us. Mr. Channing'.” “My dear sir.” replied de Lys politely. “I am quite sure that what you fancy you usually obtain. I am quite ready—as a preliminary, of course, to Doris.” His host, if he may be so called, bent critical brows at this rejoinder. “I am.” he began with a certain pomposity, “John Swain-on.” "Indeed!” murmured de Lys. seeing that the pau~e emphasized the importance of this announcement. “I suppose I ant plain enough." said Mr. Swainson sharply. "I am Miss Grai.am’s guardian— or rather I was until, under the conditions of her father's will, she attained the age of twenty-five la»t December.” De Lys was under-tood to murmur that it would be a privilege to lie a ward of Mr. <! wainson's. "tome. sir. we are not here to speak flippancies or to beat about the bush,” said Swainson.

“I understood I was here to see Doris,” complained de Lys mildly. Mr. Swainson examined him unde-T lowered brows, but seemed to find some puzzle. "You are either,” said he austerely, “ a remarkably shameless young man or a wonderful fool.” "It never does,” said de Lys, shaking his head, "to decide too rashly.” "I agree with you,” said Mr. Swainson bluntly, "and 1 hope to get sufficient evidence for a decision before you and I part. Let me tell you frankly then that you have been brought here under a pretence.” De Lys slapped his knee vigorously. “Hanged if I didn't suspect it!” he exclaimed cheerfully. "You have been brought here." pursued Mr. Swainsen. who was obviously embarrassed by this interjection, but who stuck tenaciously to his task, "by a contrivance w of mine which I think is fully justified by the circumstances of what I regard as a scandalous caseZ’ "Oh. come, sir.'’ protested de Lys. who was anxious to know more of his position. “I repeat, seandalbus, and I might have made the word stronger,” said Mr. Swainson. "Before I broach my object let me put it thus: Last year about this time my ward. Miss Graham, makes your acquaintance while on a visit to Edinburgh. She is still my ward at the time, and I made inquiries. I find you to be a member of an apparently respectable firm in the city, and I have nothing to say. Though I have not set eyes on vou until this moment. Mr. Channing. I should have had nothing to say at this moment, had it not been for what is well known to both of us." He came to a pause. De Lys wished with alt his heart that he would say what was well known to both of them.

Mi-s Graham ceased to be my ward in December, said Mr. Swainson, resuming. -but I feel myself still bound to protect her—even against herself,” he added. ’X elite. thought de Lys. "Doris believes in me: that’s a comfort.” Aloud he said: "I quite understand your feelings, my dear sir. If you will allow me to -ay so. they do you credit. I an' sure neither Doris nor myself would willingly give—” Mr. Swainson thrust him aside with an imperious gesture. "I may say now,” he interrupted with acerbity, "that if I wanted evidence as to what exactly you were I have got it. Anyone who in your position, and with the serious charges hanging over your head, could behave with such flippancy, is capable of anything. Well, I am glad. It makes my ta-k easier, easier of proposal, and ea-ier. I think, of fulfilment. I make you this proposition. Frederick Channing." He moistened his lips, and set his white fingers together. “At this moment there are in my house officers from Scotland Yard who w ill act on my signal. I summoned them here by telephone on a subterfuge. Xever mind that. If you give me a signed undertaking to break absolutely with Miss Graham and write a letter to my dictation, I will open the doors and let you go. I am not anxious to lie catchpoll to the law. Hut if. on the other hand, you refuse, I will call the officers in and hand you over to the justice you have been evading.” It came as a certain surprise to de Lys that he was involved in an affair of some consequence. There were elements of the dramatic in the situation which appealed to him, in sight of which

he thrilled. But, as usual with him, he dallied with predieament. "Would not that be compounding a felony I” he asked after due consideration. Mr. Swainson shrugged his "I am not much concerned with technical terms if I can save an unfortunate young woman from her folly.” "And this letter?” inquired de Lys softly. “Ah!” Mr. Swainson’s eyes narrowed on him. “It will be a letter addressed to Miss Graham which I shall post myself to-night.” “A letter of renunciation?’’ suggested de Lys. “More that that.” said the older man grimly, “of confession.” "Ah! then Doris believes in me still.” De Lys got that out. and the flash of annoyance in the other's eyes told him he was right. He accepted himself in the position and in the personality- of Frederick < banning: he began to be eager for Frederick Channing to be innocent. AH his forces were ready to be arrayed against the enemy and on behalf of Doris. If only he knew the details of Frederick Channing's supposed and alleged crime! "Miss Graham’s opinion on matters of business is hardly one on which to pin. much faith,” said her ex-guardian coldly. De Lys mused. There were the elements of a pretty tangle here, and he turned them over. On one thing he wasi determined — not to give any answer until he had seen Doris. He made this clear forthwith. "You put me in a difficult position,” he said at last. "My decision affects two lives and for a l time. I should like time to consider; and I think you will see that it is only fair that Miss Graham should be considered in this.” “Good heavens, man. am I not considering her, first and last ?” burst out Mr. Swainson, and cheeked himself. "Very well.” he went on slowly, "I dare sav it is better she knew. 1 will see, her and bring her to you.” "I think it would be better if we consulted alone." suggested de Lys. ■Yes,” agreed Mr. Swainson shortly, and went out. He was gone ten minutes, during which the prisoner made a cursory tour of his room, examining books and inspecting pictures to acquaint himself, if possible, with the characters and tastes of the inmates. In the centre of the room was a card-table with a box of card-packs open. The click of the door arrested him in the midst of this occupation, and Mr. Swainson re-entered, holding the door open for a har ’-’ me girl in evening dress. She' was of average height, rather slight, and quick and dark of eye; and her pallor at this moment was intense. It was evident that Mr. Swainson had been explaining the situation to her. Her bosom was agitated with emotion. But as she swung in behind her guardian she stared, started, and exclaimed. "This—this isn’t Mr. Channing.” De Lys made no movement, and Mr. :i’s glance went back from him to her. "Well.” he -aid dryly, "he came here as Mr. Channing, and does not seem anxious to disclaim the identity, which in the circumstances is rather remarkable.” “Xo. no. Mr. Swainson. I assure you there is a mistake. It is not —not Mr. Channins.” She turned to him emotionally. It was evident he did not credit her for a moment. He smiled sourly. “M hafc do you say to that, sir?” he asked de "I never contradict a lady,” satq de Lys. "But perhaps, if you would permit us a private interview, we might advance a stage farther in this interesting drama.” Mr. Swainson looked from one to tha other. It was clear he thought he held the trump cards, and that by leaving them together he hoped the woman would persuade the man to accept safety, At any rate he slid from the room, pausing on the threshold only to cal! his prisoner’s attention to the alternative. It was sufficiently dramatic to satisfy de Lys. Voices arose and issued through the opened door, voices from below—the rumble of male voices. "You know the choice." he said. “I think I can give you twenty minutes.” The door shut him out. and the girl who had stood staring at de Lys, spoke vehemently as it did. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?” "I should like to know mvself who I am. and what I have done,” said he in a friendly way. “You answered this — this advertisement.” she began tempestuously. •"Your advertisement,” he interposed*

"No,” she declared fiercely, “not mine, one forged in my name to trick —” She stopped. “Why did you answer this advertisement?” she demanded abruptly. ‘•Let us sit down, Miss Graham.” said he soothingly, “and I will tell you exactly how I stand, and with what light you can shed we may be able to see our way clearer.” She sat down reluctantly, keeping her eyes suspiciously on him. He could see. she was torn between anger and misery, and his pity went out to her. “Let us begin by pleading guilty,” he said in his most sympathetic manner.

gi l have never believed these agony adoff plave. I saw one, and I decided to test it.” ‘•lt is no excuse —it’s no reason,” she cried piteously. •'I admit it,” he said gravely. “I am willing to repair my mistake. I have stumbled into something which does vertisements genuine. 1 have always thought them faked, practical jokes, the larks of young fools whose idea of wit is a damp squib. That was my jumpingexist. which is not altogether a sham. I am willing to pay.” ‘‘Par,” she echoed wildly, anl was suddenly silent, lost in grief. •T take it,” said de Lys gently, “that 3lr. Swainson was responsible for the advertisements. And I take it also that you are aware what he wants.’’ * “He wants me to —to break with Mr. Channing,” said the girl sadly. ‘ Will you please tell me about Mr. Channing?” urged de Lys. “Mr. Channing is a partner, a junior partner, in the firm of Grange X' Channing. Solicitors.” said the girl in an even, emotionless voice. “Grange & Channing!” De Lvs seemed to recall the name somehow. He remembered suddenly. “I think I understand.” he said softly. *Mr. Grange’* death was the occasion of the discovery of large defalcation* by the firm.” “By Mr. Grange,” corrected Mis* Graham quickly. ”Mr. < banning was ignorant of everything.” “You know that?” he asked. “He wrote and told me so.” she said simply. “O simplex man litis!” sighed de Lys to himself. 'You have seen him then?” “No.” She seemed uneasy at that. “He— he—the papers say he has Ts appeared. But I know he is only doing what is right and necessary.” This profound faith was worthy of martyrs. “Then you do not share Mr. Swainson’s feelings in tit*.* matter?” he asked. ‘•Remember, you have been left with me really that we may arrange to break, and so secure my safely. I van sec no v Mr. Swain*on’* motives, and his wisdom. You would do anythin? to secure the safety of Mr. Ghanning?’’ “Yes.” she said frankly, looking on him without shame. “I know him. I know lie would be guilty of nothing base. 1 would do whatever he might want, i wrote to tell him so. T will go tn him. if he will let me. I have told him so.” “Ha* he answered?” he aske I gently. “No," she «aid with an in drawing of her breath that was like a sob; ami then she appeared to recollect. “But you have not said why you are here.” “I have apologized,” said the de Lys, “and I have now to make amen Is.” “Oh,” she broke out, as if she heard Dot, or hearing gave no heed, “that it

should seem that I had lured him to “Pardon me, my dear lady,” protested de Lys. “It is I you would seem to have lured.” She stared as if uncomprehending. “Oh, yes,” she said at last. '’l forgot. Well, it doesn’t matter about you; but it does matter that lie should think I was trying to lure him.” “I don’t quite see how he is to think that, unless he .is a remarkably suspicious young man.” said de Lys, stroking his ehin pensively.

She was evidently not considering him very seriously, and he endeavoured to direct her attention to the present. “Well? what are we to say to Mr. Swainson?" he asked almost cheerfully. "Say!” she stared at him. “It doesn’t matter what you say." she returned contemptuously. "What 1 mean is, am I to give you up?” he explained. "Because, frankly, I don’t like the idea at all.” Her eyes dropped for a moment under his gaze. “I think I’d better refuse.” he sail. ‘•What- is the use of playing with the situation?” she demanded scornfully. "Do you think it is a time for silly masquerades, when you are face to face with real life?” He had admired her fidelity as that of the angels.-but he did not know now if her emotionalism was not too strenuous. She seemed resolved on tragedy and the buskin. "I am not playing masks,” he said mildly. "I am in earnest. If I refuse to give you up I go to prison, and I am right, I think, in supposing that there is a warrant out for Mr. Channing.” She flushed. “It’s is a shame! It is persecution!” she exclaimed. "Well,” he suggested in his even way, “if suspicion is thus diverted, and lie wants to escape, he shall have the chance.” “He does not want to escape.” she protested vehemently. “He is not guilty. He—” “Would you go oversea with him. thus branded by suspicion—unjust of course’?” he asked softly. “Yes,” Her answer was defiant. Such faith removed mountains, and was touching; it certainly excused her tragedy "Very well.” lie said after a pause. “Go down and tell Mr. Swainson that. J. refuse to give you up. and that you glory in my refusal. That would make him act.” She hesitated, looking at him with all her heart, so to speak, and then: "You mean this? May God be good to you!” she cried. “Perhaps it will help. Yes. I will accept your sacrifice. You are a good friend.” She turned as she readied the door and ere she fled noiselessly gave him tlu lire of her fine dramatic eyes. "A good girl, a nice girl, ami a pretty girl,” reflected de Lys, left alone, "but a too-emotional girl.” He mused: “I should tire of a gusher first of all. I think. They are so wearing on the nerves.” As he reached this conclusion he was aware of a noise that came from the iong windows behind him. It was a scratching, scuffling sound, and k dre.v him to an examination of the > n I > v.-. One of them was shuttered for tin l night, bat the other was only partly

barred, and, pushing aside the curtains he peered out. What it looked out upon he never discovered, for he found himself, to his amazement, gazing into the shadowy and unrecognisable face of a man. “Good evening!” began de Lys courteously. “What can I do for you?” The man, who had apparently succeeded in pushing aside the unfastened shutters whieh should have barred the window, came forward without a word. He gave a quick glance about the room, breathing somewhat heavily as if from previous physical exertions. "Where’s Miss Graham?” he turned on de Lys to ask abruptly. De Lys eyed him speculatively. The stranger was young and alert. He could not be a burglar, since he asked for Miss Graham. It occurred to de Lys that he might be one of Mr. Swainson’s detectives. “It’s no use," he said, shaking his head. “The man has got away.” “Who has got away?” asked the young man. "The man you want," replied de Lys, dallying with the situation easily. "Humph!" The young man stared at him hard. He was rather short, bright - eyed, and evidently impetuous. "Who are you?” he inquired. Really de Lys hardly knew how to answer this question. He was reluctant to declare himself in his true person, and this newcomer. although he seemed sure of his right to interrogate, was quite linkown. However. lie summarily resolved to carryout the plan on the chance of this being one of Swainson’s detectives. "I am Frederick Channing,” he said, quietly. The young man started, stared, gaped, opened his mouth to speak, and seemed struck impotent, by something. "Whom did you say?” he' asked. "Frederick Channing.” De Lys pronounced the names syllable by syllable as for an interrogating child. There was a momentary silence between them, as the young man seemed to be taking this in,' and then lie said rather fiercely, “You’re a liar.” De Lys drew himself up. “In that case," he began with great dignity; but he was not allowed to proceed. “What’s that you're got there? How did you get that! Look here, what do you mean by passing yourself off as —- as somebody else?” The young man was pointing, in excitement to the ring on de Lys finger. “What —the ring?" said de Lys. “Why, it was a present. What’s it to do with you?” "Look here,” said the stranger, obviously trying to restrain himself. “I should like to understand a little more of this. You say your name is Channing?” "Frederick Channing,” put in de Lys. “That makes it worse,” said the young man. goaded to anger. "Why—” The click of the door arrested both of them in the midst of this altercation, and

they turned to see Miss Graham re enter the room. "Doris!” exclaimed the young man with mingled rapture and pathos. “Frederick!” called out Miss Graham “Well, I’m — bothered!” remarked Lord de Lys. “Frederick, what are you doing here? You must go,” panted Miss Graham. "There are detectives in the house, and

you are to be arrested. Mr. Swainson ” “But they don’t know I’m here,” protested the real Frederick in surprise. “No one can know, for I followed Mr. Swainson’s cab in the dark all the way from the Serpentine.” “You were the man hanging over the bridge," said de Lys with a sudden inspiration. “Why, this must be he—this is he.” cried the young man, turning on him fiercely. “He’s the detective.” He seemed about to lay hands on de Lys, but the girl's voice stopped him. “No, Frederick. I confess I don’t know in the least who he is, but I don't think he’s a detective. In fact, he pretended to be you.” Mr. Channing eyed him suspiciously, and de Lys hastened to say. “Don't you think we had better postpone recriminations, and face the situation?" "I’m hanged if I know what tne situation is," said Mr. Channing gloomily De Lys reminded him. "There is a warrant out for your arrest.” "And a detective is coming up almost at once. 1 told Mr. Swainson, put in Miss Graham. "To send a detective to arrest me!’ asked Mr. Channing in horror. "No, no, 1 can't explain —him. ” said Miss Graham with agitation. "Let me." said de Lys placidly. Miss Graham and 1 thought that by my pretending to be vou it would divert attention from you. wherever you might be. and so enable you to escape quietly from the country.” "But I’m not going to escape, protested Mr. Channing almost angrily. "Oh, ’Frederick!" It was plain that both Miss Graham and de Lys regarded this as a rather rash statement, anil the young man displayed indignation. -I have sufficient evidence to demon strate my entire innocence of participation in the mad crime of my partner," he said with lofty hauteur. “I have been collecting proofs. I wrote to you I was innocent." he added reproachfully "Why didn’t you wait?” "I believed it —I do believe it," she cried. "Of course he is innocent." she said, turning indignantly on de Lys. “Of course he is," agreed de Lys. “You might." continued Mr. Channing with great pithos, "you might have waited till I was proved guilty before throwing me over, and giving my ring to somebody else.” “I never —what ring?" demanded Miss Graham excitedly. He pointed with dignified sorrow to de Lys’s hand, whieh that gentleman en deavoured to hide. Miss Graham leaped upon him like a tiger. “What are you doing witii my ring?” Where did you get that!" she asked. "I got it from Mr. Swainson." sail he, surrendering meekly to the onslaught. Miss Graham had captured it. but it would not come off. “Oh, it’s scandalous!" she pante l. "D >

help, Frederick!" Frederick helped. an! the ring was regained after a r.'ii; i treatment of the finger. “It seems to me,” said de Lys. nursing his linger tenderly, “that if Mr. Channing lines not want to be arrested he had better go."

Channing regarded him with increased suspicion, as if he imagined reasons for wanting him out of the way. “I have no reason to fear the police,” he said haughtily. “I'm sure of that,” <le Lys said quickly “but I thought it would look better to surrender rather than be taken.” “It is of no consequence to me,” began the young man, but (Miss Graham intervened with feminine perception. “Yes, he is right, Frederick,” she declared. “Run away now and go to the police yourself.” Mr, Channing’s brow lowered as he regarded them both with suspicion. “What I want to know is,” he said firmly, “what exactly this man’s doing here and who he is.” “I don’t know, Frederick,” declared Miss Graham truthfully. “He hasn’t any right here.” “Then it’s he who ought to go away,” said Mr. Channing. “Ah, here are the officers,” said de Lys, hearing a sound without the door. Miss Graham made a step as if to fly to Mr. Channing, but refrained. Two men, obviously detectives, stood in the doorway. It was manifest that they had not expected to find the company that met them. “Mr. Channing?” the smaller and more authoritative man ventured, looking from one to the other. No one replied. The officer coughed. “I was told I should find Frederick Channing here. There is a warrant for his arrest,” he said deprecatingly. “Well, where is he?” asked de Lys courteously.. “So far as I know there are only ourselves here.” The officer coughed again, and, turning to his man, whispered a communication, which caused the other to leave the room unaggressively. “Won’t you sit down and wait?” said de Lys invitingly, as ha indicated a chair. He himself with a gesture motioned Mr. Channing to a seat at the card table, which stood open, and he addressed Miss Graham openly. “We may as well finish the rubber,” he said evenly. Once more with feminine quickness Miss Gm ham obeyed, and took her seat facing the detective and opposite the chair into which Mr. Channing had chanced to drop. De Lys took a pack of cards from the box and began to deal. “If you would discard from strength, my dear Doris,” he said pleasantly, “you would find it on the whole a better plan. I always do.” At the affectionate address Mr. Channing’s face worked and his eyes flashed, •but he made no other sign, probably because Miss Graham kicked him under the table. “No trumps!” announced de Lys, as evenly as if he had been playing in his club. “The advantage of no trumps,” he added; apparently addressing the astonished detective. “is that you score a great deal, if you do score at all, with comparatively poor cards. Do you play bridge?” “No, sir,” said the detective. “Ah—a pity. It is a wonderful game, and—” At this jucture the second detective returned in the company of Mr. Swainson, who gapedi upon the party at the table. “What the—” he paused. “I don’t know who the deuce that is—perhaps Miss Graham will explain later—but this is your man.” He indicated de Lys, and the detectives moved forward. “Pardon me.” said de Lys, swinging round in his chair, cards in hand. “Who is it you are looking for?” “For you, Frederick Channing,” said Mr. Swainson sharply. “My dear good sir. I am not Frederick Channing, as you well know.” “Not Frederick Channing?” roared Mr. Swainson. “Then who the deuce are yon ?” “We need not go into that at present.” said de Lys equably. "Let it suffice that I came here at your invitation. Your play. Doris! ” Mr Swainson's acid but gentlemanly face was suffused. “This is more bluff,” he said to the officer. “He is Channing right enough.” > “Do you identify him as Frederick Channing?” inquired the detective doubtfully. “Well, no. I have not seen him before but there in really no doubt.” Mr Swaingon was clearly put out. ■ *.,’i . .. >vs-n’t Mr. Channing,” remarked Miss Graham triumphantly.

The detective looked still more doubtful. Mr. Swainson gave way to his annoyance. “Who may you be?" he asked angrily of Mr. Channing. “Oh, he’s a friend of mine,” said de Lys cheerfully. “I hop? you don’t mind the liberty I’ve taken.” The detective touched Mr. Swainson on the arm and drew him aside ere he could burst forth at this. They conferred together Sotto voice, and apparently came to some determination. “One of you.” said Mr. Swainson with carefully achieved calmness as’ he advanced onee more, “is Frederick Channing, for whom the police have a warrant.” “If that is the case will the police please take him away.” said de Lys, throwing down .his cards. He regarded the angry man and the puzzled man with a smile. “Certainly,” said Mr. Swainson, and made a gesture to the officer, who ap-proa-ehed de Lys forthwith -and with deliberation. Now de Lys was seated within touch of Doris on his right, and he chanced to observe that Mr. Swainson was not looking at him, as would have been expected, but toward Doris with intentness. Instantly he made a guess at the trick which his ingenuity approved. It was to be the judgment of Solomon over again. He put out his hand furtively under the table and held it poised during the moments of the detective’s approach. As the officer’s hand fell on his shoulder he pinched hard and Miss Graham uttered a cry. It w’as a cry of pain, Im. rved for a cry of distress. “Ah!” said Mr. Swainson in a satisfied way. “I told you so.” “Frederick Channing, I arrest you—” De Lys got to his feet indifferently. “Good-by, old ehap,” he nodded to Channing. “Sorry it ends like this. Go and inform—well, you know whom.” As the young man passed him, something bewildered, he whispered, “Give yourself up when you will—and stand the racket.” There was no anxiety to detain Mr. Channing, nor did Miss Graham accompany him. She “ played the game ” wonderfully, showing such distress as reduced Mr. Swainson to silence and misgivings, now that he had his way. Do Lys went through the feint of cheering her up, and when he was taken to the door in the company of the officers she followed him. “Thank you, oh. thank you.” she whispered in his ear in the dimness of the hall. “My dear lady, it is nothing. It has, only been an entertainment for me, and I hope will be little more than that to you now.” In deference to their supposed relations the officers had indulged them with privacy. “Do you think—” “He is innocent ? Yes, he could not be anything else.” Which was indeed, the conclusion to which do Lys had come after a study of the naive young man. “But you?” she faltered. “I shall get. a free drive to my own neighbourhood,” he said lightly, “and then convince these obstinate fellows that I am not the person 1 have protested I was not. I dare say they will look foolish.” “But Frederick Air. Channing?” “Will have the credit of surrendering of his own accord.” he said gravely-. He moved away, and then paused. “I am sorry I’m not the real Frederick Channing. I hope I didn't pinch too hard,” he said softly. “Where did I—” “Oh, it was nothing nowhere,” she said in confusion. "I think I was right in going . j trumps,” he reflected a- he went off with his captors. ‘‘lf I bad tried hearts i -*■ Don't you think we might take a taxicab?” he broke off to ask the officers.