erly at a loss as to what build of car was
driven by the stranger."

I had just finished reading this extraordinary story when I felt a tap
on the shoulder, and, looking up, saw Colonel Maitland standing before
me.

"'Pon my word, Sutgrove," he remarked, "I have never before seen any one
so completely enthralled in a newspaper in my life. I've been standing
watching you for nearly a minute."

I sprang to my feet, and held out my hand.

"What's the latest from Mr. Justice Jeune's division? When you come to
my years of discretion you will be more interested in the _menu_."

I laughed. "It was not the inanities of the divorce court, Colonel," I
remarked; "but the most astonishing----"

He checked me with uplifted hand. "Being a rational being," he said, "I
prefer my stories with my cigar. One should come to dinner with a calm
mind."

At this moment Winter entered the room, and, giving a signal to the
waiter, the _hors d'oeuvre_ were placed before us as he seated himself
at the table.

When he had greeted me I had observed that Colonel Maitland's face had
worn a slightly resigned expression that reminded me of a picture I had
seen somewhere of Christian martyrs being led to the stake. He took a
mouthful of caviar and the cloud lifted. After the soup the dominant
note of self-sacrifice had vanished entirely. With the fish his features
attained repose. When we reached the _entree_ his face had the radiance
of a translated saint's. Then, with my mind at rest as to the effect of
my little dinner upon my chief guest, I found time to devote a little
attention to Winter. Yet, bearing in mind the Colonel's objection to
anything but light generalities during the serious business of dinner, I
forbore to introduce the topic I was burning to discuss with him. Not
until the coffee was upon the table, and Colonel Maitland had expressed
his contentment with the dinner, did I venture to refer to it. Then,
while our senior was dallying with an early strawberry, Winter gave me a
lead.

"By the way, Sutgrove," he said, "what's this I saw on the evening paper
bills about a motor pirate?"

I told him. His interest was awakened to such an extent that he forgot
to taste the glass of port which stood before him, and which I had
ordered out of compliment to the Colonel's ideas of what was desirable.

When my story was concluded Winter was silent. Colonel Maitland,
however, hazarded the remark that the whole narrative was "a concoction