, "I _used_ to be a good
shot; I'm only a lucky shot now. It's not often I make a double. Where
have you been?"

"Over to look at some timber on the West Branch."

"I heard voices," Blakeman said, "full half an hour ago"--and he
pointed in the direction from which Holcomb had come--"and did you see
anybody?"

"Yes," said Holcomb, after a moment's thoughtful hesitation, "I did."

"Whom?"

"Mrs. Thayor and the doctor, out for a walk."

"Of course," said Blakeman, looking queerly into Holcomb's eyes. "You
saw them quite by chance, I'll wager. You're not the kind of a lad to
prowl on the edge of other people's affairs."

Holcomb did not reply. He was weighing in his mind the advisability
of making a confidant of Blakeman against the wisdom of telling him
nothing.

"When you know these people of the world as well as I do, my friend,"
continued Blakeman, as the two seated themselves to rest, "what you've
just seen won't rob you of much sleep," and he laid his favourite gun
tenderly upon a log. "The very last people in the world--women--whom
you wouldn't suspect--are usually the ones. Most of them do as they
please if they've enough money."

"Blakeman," exclaimed Holcomb, unable to contain himself longer, "the
man whom you and I serve is my friend. Sam Thayor never did a mean
thing in his life--he's not that kind. It's his daughter, too, whom I
am thinking about. You've known them both as well as I do--longer in
fact--"

"And far better," added Blakeman. "It is a pleasure to serve a master
like Mr. Thayor, and Miss Margaret is as good as gold." He scraped the
mud from his boots as he continued: "Didn't I serve an archduke once,
who was a pig in his household and a damned idiot out of it?--but
neither you nor me are getting to the point. What you really want to
talk about is madam, and since I believe in you I intend to post you
further. It may be the means of keeping two people happy who deserve
to be, if nothing else."

"That's about what I was going to say," confessed Holcomb simply,
drawn by the butler's frankness.

Blakeman smiled--a bitter smile that terminated with a sudden gleam in
his eyes as he leaned forward.

"Last winter," he went on hurriedly, as he glanced at the setting
sun, "I stumbled on them both just as you've done, only my trail led
through the conservatory of the New York house. They were both hard
pressed, do you see, for a way out; that's how I first knew about Mr.
Thayor's intention t