s the evening of the 3rd of June. A cry rends the air suddenly,
whistles are blowing, there is a rattling of horses' hoofs. "Fire! Fire!"
Richard, who was passing Soho Square at the time, heard the cry and
dashed into the burning house. In a room full of smoke he perceived a
cowering woman. Hyacinth! To pick her up was the work of a moment, but
how shall he save her? Stay! The telegraph wire! His training at
the Royal Circus stood him in good stead. Treading lightly on the swaying
wire he carried Hyacinth across to the house opposite.

"At last, my love," he breathed.

"But the papers," she cried. "You must get them, or father will not let
you marry me."

Once more he treads the rocking wire; once more he re-crosses, with the
papers on his back. Then the house behind him crumbles to the ground,
with the wicked Jasper in its ruins....

"Excellent," said Mr. Bellingham at dinner that evening. "Not only are
the papers here, but a full confession by Jasper. My first wife was
drowned all the time; he stole the documents from her father. Richard, my
boy, when the Home Secretary knows everything he will give you a free
pardon. And then you can marry my daughter."

At these words Hyacinth and Richard were locked in a close embrace. On
the next day they all went to the Derby together.

THE FATAL GIFT

People say to me sometimes, "Oh, _you_ know Woolman, don't you?" I
acknowledge that I do, and, after the silence that always ensues, I add,
"If you want to say anything against him, please go on." You can almost
hear the sigh of relief that goes up. "I thought he was a friend of
yours," they say cheerfully. "But, of course, if--" and then they
begin.

I think it is time I explained my supposed friendship for Ernest Merrowby
Woolman--confound him.

The affair began in a taxicab two years ago. Andrew had been dining with
me that night; we walked out to the cab-rank together; I told the driver
where to go, and Andrew stepped in, waved good-bye to me from the window,
and sat down suddenly upon something hard. He drew it from beneath him,
and found it was an extremely massive (and quite new) silver cigar-case.
He put it in his pocket with the intention of giving it to the driver
when he got out, but quite naturally forgot. Next morning he found it on
his dressing-table. So he put it in his pocket again, meaning to leave it
at Scotland Yard on his way to the City.

Next morning it was on his dressing-table again.

Thi