ir. You are very welcome."

Sam resumed his reading. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead.
His toes curled, and something seemed to be crawling down the small of
his back. His heart had moved from its proper place and was now beating
in his throat. He swallowed once or twice to remove the obstruction, but
without success. A kind of pall had descended on the landscape, blotting
out the sun.

Of all the rotten sensations in this world, the worst is the realisation
that a thousand-to-one chance has come off, and caused our wrong-doing
to be detected. There had seemed no possibility of that little ruse of
his being discovered, and yet here was Billie in full possession of the
facts. It almost made the thing worse that she did not say how she had
come into possession of them. This gave Sam that feeling of self-pity,
that sense of having been ill-used by Fate, which makes the bringing
home of crime so particularly poignant.

"Fine day!" he muttered. He had a sort of subconscious feeling that it
was imperative to keep engaging Webster in light conversation.

"Yes, sir. Weather still keeps up," agreed the valet suavely.

Sam frowned over the note. He felt injured. Sending a fellow notes
didn't give him a chance. If she had come in person and denounced him it
would not have been an agreeable experience, but at least it would have
been possible then to have pleaded and cajoled and--and all that sort of
thing. But what could he do now? It seemed to him that his only possible
course was to write a note in reply, begging her to see him. He explored
his pockets and found a pencil and a scrap of paper. For some moments he
scribbled desperately. Then he folded the note.

"Will you take this to Miss Bennett?" he said, holding it out.

Webster took the missive, because he wanted to read it later at his
leisure; but he shook his head.

"Useless, I fear, sir," he said gravely.

"What do you mean?"

"I am afraid it would effect little or nothing, sir, sending our Miss B.
notes. She is not in the proper frame of mind to appreciate them. I saw
her face when she handed me the letter you have just read, and I assure
you, sir, she is not in a malleable mood."

"You seem to know a lot about it!"

"I have studied the sex, sir," said Webster modestly.

"I mean, about my business, confound it! You seem to know all about it!"

"Why, yes, sir, I think I may say that I have grasped the position of
affairs. And, if you will perm