ance up and down the
lane, saw it lift long arms and heard a faint scuffling as, mounting
this wall it paused awhile athwart the coping ere it vanished on the
other side. Looping his cane on his wrist Mr. Dalroyd crossed the lane
and drawing himself up peered over the wall in time to see this
mysterious figure flit among the trees of an orchard, mount yet another
wall and vanish again. Without more ado Mr. Dalroyd in turn clambered
up and over the wall and dropping on soft, new-turned earth, continued
the pursuit, that is to say he had crossed a smooth stretch of lawn and
was in the very act of mounting the other wall when strong hands seized
him from behind and a gruff voice said in his ear:

"You ain't no ghost, I'll swear! Right about turn and show us your
face!" And Mr. Dalroyd was swung round so violently that his hat fell
off. "Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "'tis nought but one o' these
fine London sparks arter all!" Mr. Dalroyd swore. "Sir," said the
Sergeant imperturbably, "why and wherefore d'ye trespass, and so late
too? Sir, what's the evolution, or shall we say, manoover?"

"Rogue," said Mr. Dalroyd, "pick up my hat!"

"Rogue, is it?" mused the Sergeant.

"Animal, my hat!"

"Animal, now?"

"D'ye hear, vermin?" Mr. Dalroyd stood, his head viciously out-thrust
so that the long curls of his peruke falling back from brow and cheek
discovered more fully his haughty features, delicately pale in the
bright moonlight; and beholding this face--its fine black brows,
aquiline nose, fierce eyes and thin-lipped mouth the Sergeant fell
back, staring:

"Zounds!" he exclaimed, and gaped.

Something in the Sergeant's attitude seemed to strike Mr. Dalroyd who,
returning this searching look, lounged back against the wall, one hand
toying with the curls of his wig, and when next he spoke his voice was
as languidly soft as usual.

"What now, ass?" The Sergeant drew a deep breath:

"Talking o' ghosts and apparations," said he, "I aren't so sure as you
ain't one, arter all."

"Why, worm?"

"Because if you happened to be wearing an officer's coat--red and blue
facings, say, and your legs in a pair o' jack-boots, I should know--ah,
I'd be sure you was a ghost."

"What d'ye mean?" Mr. Dalroyd's slender brows scowled suddenly, and
before the malevolence of his eyes the Sergeant gave back another step.

"What d'ye mean, toad?"

"I mean as you'd be dead! But your coat ain't red, is it, sir? And
your