tween Stafford and Fellowes.

"Well, what is it?" asked Fellowes, with an attempt to be casual,
though there was that in Stafford's face which gave him anxiety, he
knew not why. He had expected Jasmine, and, instead, here was Stafford,
who had been so much with her of late; who, with Mennaval, had occupied
so much of her time that she had scarcely spoken to him, and, when she
did so, it was with a detachment which excluded him from intimate
consideration.

His face wore a mechanical smile, as his pale blue eyes met the dark
intensity of Stafford's. But slowly the peach-bloom of his cheeks faded
and his long, tapering fingers played nervously with the
leather-trimming of the piano-stool.

"Anything I can do for you, Stafford?" he added, with attempted
nonchalance.

"There is nothing you can do for me," was the meaning reply, "but there
is something you can do advantageously for yourself, if you will think
it worth while."

"Most of us are ready to do ourselves good turns. What am I to do?"

"You will wish to avoid it, and yet you will do yourself a good turn in
not avoiding it."

"Is that the way you talk in diplomatic circles--cryptic, they call it,
don't they?"

Stafford's chin hardened, and a look of repulsion and disdain crossed
over his face.

"It is more cryptic, I confess, than the letter which will cause you to
do yourself a good turn."

Now Fellowes' face turned white. "What letter?" he asked, in a sharp,
querulous voice.

"The letter you wrote Mrs. Byng from the Trafalgar Club yesterday."

Fellowes made a feint, an attempt at bravado. "What business is it of
yours, anyhow? What rights have you got in Mrs. Byng's letters?"

"Only what I get from a higher authority."

"Are you in sweet spiritual partnership with the Trinity?"

"The higher authority I mean is Mr. Byng. Let us have no tricks with
words, you fool."

Fellowes made an ineffective attempt at self-possession.

"What the devil ... why should I listen to you?" There was a peevish
stubbornness in the tone.

"Why should you listen to me? Well, because I have saved your life.
That should be sufficient reason for you to listen."

"Damnation--speak out, if you've got anything to say! I don't see what
you mean, and you are damned officious. Yes, that's it--damned
officious." The peevishness was becoming insolent recklessness.

Slowly Stafford drew from his pocket the revolver Rudyard had given
him. As Fellowes caught sight of the glit