f the streets."

"The man must have an interesting personality," a novelist who had
joined the party observed. "Of course, you know that he was in prison
for six months?"

"What for?" some one asked.

"Murder, only they brought it in manslaughter," was the terse reply.
"He killed his partner. It was many years ago, and no one knows all the
facts of the story."

"I am not holding a brief for Sir Timothy," Francis remarked, as he
sipped his cocktail. "As a matter of fact, he and I are very much at
cross-purposes. But as regards that particular instance, I am not sure
that he was very much to be blamed, any more than you can blame any
injured person who takes the law into his own hands."

"He isn't a man I should care to have for an enemy," Baker declared.

"Well, we'll shake the truth out of you fellows, somehow or other," one
of the group threatened. "On Friday morning we are going to have the
whole truth--none of this Masonic secrecy which Baker indulged in last
year."

The men drifted in to luncheon and Francis, leaving them, took a taxi on
to the Ritz. Looking about in the vestibule for Margaret, he came face
to face with Lady Cynthia. She was dressed with her usual distinction in
a gown of yellow muslin and a beflowered hat, and was the cynosure of a
good many eyes.

"One would almost imagine, Lady Cynthia," he said, as they exchanged
greetings, "that you had found that elixir we were talking about."

"Perhaps I have," she answered, smiling. "Are you looking for Margaret?
She is somewhere about. We were just having a chat when I was literally
carried off by that terrible Lanchester woman. Let's find her."

They strolled up into the lounge. Margaret came to meet them. Her smile,
as she gave Francis her left hand, transformed and softened her whole
appearance.

"You don't mind my having asked Cynthia to lunch with us?" she said. "I
really couldn't get rid of the girl. She came in to see me this morning
the most aggressively cheerful person I ever knew. I believe that she
had an adventure last night. All that she will tell me is that she dined
and danced at Claridge's with a party of the dullest people in town."

A tall, familiar figure passed down the vestibule. Lady Cynthia gave a
little start, and Francis, who happened to be watching her, was amazed
at her expression.

"Your father, Margaret!" she pointed out. "I wonder if he is lunching
here."

"He told me that he was lunching somewhere with a Sout