n's pale eyes looked sharply into mine, and I bowed
to him ironically. I saw a high, thin face, resolute and impulsive, a
grim ascetic face, with a long, straight nose that seemed pulled too
close to his upper lip, and a mouth stamped roughly on a narrow, bony
jaw, a mouth, as I looked at it, that seemed ready to utter an
imprecation.

"Mr. Lawton and I have met before," I said.

"Indeed? And our friend in the background," my father continued. "Perhaps
it is my bad memory that permits his identity still to be a revelation?"

The stranger nervously arranged a fold in his sea cloak, while his
little black eyes darted restlessly about the room.

"It's Sims, Captain Shelton," he volunteered, in a gentle, unassuming
voice, "and very much at your service."

"Captain Shelton be damned!" snapped Lawton. "Keep your name to yourself,
Sims, and watch the nigger and the boy. Now, Shelton, for the reason why
I'm here."

"Indeed, I am forced to admit the reason for your visit may have its
pertinence," my father admitted. "The fatigues of a long day, coupled
with the evening's wine--" He stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand,
and smiled in polite deprecation.

Slight as was his speech, Mr. Lawton seemed to take a deep interest in
it. Indeed, even while he backed around the table and seated himself in
the chair I had occupied, my father's slightest expression engaged his
undivided attention. There fell a silence such as sometimes comes at a
game of cards when the stakes at the table are running higher than is
pleasant. Brutus was watching Mr. Sims with a malignant intensity. Mr.
Sims watched Brutus. Mr. Lawton's eyes, as I have said, never left my
father, and my father polished his nails on the sleeve of his coat.

"Did I understand you to say," he asked finally, "that you were planning
to relieve my mind of the burden of speculation?"

"Quite," said Mr. Lawton, with a poor attempt at dryness. "I have come
here tonight to induce or force you to return a piece of stolen property.
I give you the liberty of taking your choice. Either--"

His voice raised itself to a sharp command.

"_Damn you, Shelton, sit still!_"

The picture had changed. Mr. Lawton was leaning across the table,
levelling a pistol at my father's head. With a detached, academic
interest, my father glanced at the weapon, and, without perceptible
pause, without added haste or deliberation, he continued to withdraw the
hand he had thrust into his right co