llent. It opens up a new and fascinating vista for the
modern sportsman. My congratulations!"

It was an interruption of peculiar and wonderful significance, but
Francis did not for the moment appreciate the fact. Turning his head, he
simply saw a complete stranger seated unaccountably at the next table,
who had butted into a private conversation and whose tone of gentle
sarcasm, therefore, was the more offensive.

"Who the devil are you, sir," he demanded, "and where did you come
from?"

The newcomer showed no resentment at Francis' little outburst. He simply
smiled with deprecating amiability--a tall, spare man, with lean, hard
face, complexion almost unnaturally white; black hair, plentifully
besprinkled with grey; a thin, cynical mouth, notwithstanding its
distinctly humourous curve, and keen, almost brilliant dark eyes. He was
dressed in ordinary dinner garb; his linen and jewellery was indeed in
the best possible taste. Francis, at his second glance, was troubled
with a vague sense of familiarity.

"Let me answer your last question first, sir," the intruder begged. "I
was seated alone, several tables away, when the couple next to you went
out, and having had pointed out to me the other evening at Claridge's
Hotel, and knowing well by repute, the great barrister, Mr. Francis
Ledsam, and his friend the world-famed novelist, Mr. Andrew Wilmore,
I--er--unobtrusively made my way, half a yard at a time, in your
direction--and here I am. I came stealthily, you may object? Without
a doubt. If I had come in any other fashion, I should have disturbed a
conversation in which I was much interested."

"Could you find it convenient," Francis asked, with icy politeness, "to
return to your own table, stealthily or not, as you choose?"

The newcomer showed no signs of moving.

"In after years," he declared, "you would be the first to regret
the fact if I did so. This is a momentous meeting. It gives me an
opportunity of expressing my deep gratitude to you, Mr. Ledsam, for
the wonderful evidence you tendered at the inquest upon the body of my
son-in-law, Oliver Hilditch."

Francis turned in his place and looked steadily at this unsought-for
companion, learning nothing, however, from the half-mocking smile and
imperturbable expression.

"Your son-in-law?" he repeated. "Do you mean to say that you are the
father of--of Oliver Hilditch's wife?"

"Widow," the other corrected gently. "I have that honour. You
will understand