rs, and
an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and slander; if by any remote
chance there should be a slip between the cup and the lip, Charles
Ventnor might be in the soup--a position which he deprecated both by
nature and profession. High thinking, therefore, decided him at last to
answer thus:

"February 19th, 1905.

"SIR,--I have received your note. I think it may be fair, before taking
further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal explanation of
the circumstances to which I alluded. I therefore propose with your
permission to call on you at your private residence at five o'clock
to-morrow afternoon.

"Yours faithfully,
"CHARLES VENTNOR.

"SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq."

Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if
circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with
confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a
Briton. All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that morning,
putting on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a
cream-coloured tie, set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes; and
he lunched, if anything, more fully than his wont, eating a stronger
cheese and taking a glass of special Club ale. He took care to be late,
too, to show the old fellow that his coming at all was in the nature of
an act of grace. A strong scent of hyacinths greeted him in the hall;
and Mr. Ventnor, who was an amateur of flowers, stopped to put his nose
into a fine bloom and think uncontrollably of Mrs. Larne. Pity! The
things one had to give up in life--fine women--one thing and another.
Pity! The thought inspired in him a timely anger; and he followed the
servant, intending to stand no nonsense from this paralytic old rascal.

The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single electric
lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black satin cloth.
There were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, a heavy old brass
chandelier without candles, heavy dark red curtains, and an indefinable
scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, and old man. He became conscious
of a candescent spot on the far side of the hearth, where the light fell
on old Heythorp's thick white hair.

"Mr. Ventnor, sir."

The candescent spot moved. A voice said: "Sit down."

Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and,
finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself. He
wanted all his wits