me, to Palermo, to Ragusa, or somewhere where you can put in a month
or so in comfort. The Villa Igiea at Palermo would suit you quite
well--lots of smart people, and very decent cooking."

"Well," he laughed, "as far as hotels go, nothing could be worse than
this place. I'd never put my nose into this hole if it were not for the
fact that you come here. There isn't a hotel worth the name. When one
goes to Monte, or Cannes, or even decaying Nice, one can get decent
cooking. But here--ugh!" and he shrugged his shoulders. "Price higher
than the 'Ritz' in Paris, food fourth-rate, rooms cheaply decorated, and
a dullness unequalled."

"My dear Jimmy," laughed her ladyship, "you're such a cosmopolitan that
you're incorrigible. I know you don't like this place. You've been here
six weeks, so go."

"You've had a letter from the old man, eh?"

"Yes, I have," she replied, and he saw that her countenance changed; but
she would say nothing more. She had decided that he must leave San Remo,
and would hear no argument to the contrary.

The southern sun sank slowly into the sea, now grey but waveless. On the
horizon lay the long smoke-trail of a passing steamer eastward bound. He
had rounded the steep, rocky headland, and in the hollow before him
nestled the little village of Ospedaletti, with its closed casino, its
rows of small villas, and its palm-lined _passeggiata_.

A hundred yards farther on he saw the figure of a rather shabby,
middle-aged man, in a faded grey overcoat and grey soft felt-hat of the
mode usual on the Riviera, but discoloured by long wear, leaning upon
the low sea-wall and smoking a cigarette. No other person was in the
vicinity, and it was quickly evident from the manner in which the
wayfarer recognised him and came forward to meet him with outstretched
hand that they had met by appointment. Short of stature as he was, with
fair hair, colourless eyes, and a fair moustache, his slouching
appearance was that of one who had seen better days, even though there
still remained about him a vestige of dandyism. The close observer
would, however, detect that his clothes, shabby though they were, were
of foreign cut, and that his greeting was of that demonstrative
character that betrayed his foreign birth.

"Well, my dear Krail," exclaimed Flockart, after they had shaken hands
and stood together leaning upon the sea-wall, "you got my wire in
Huntingdon? I was uncertain whether you were at the 'George' or at the
'