."

"Ah, yes, you are here--you, my own dear husband!"

And raising her lips, she smiled happily, and kissed him of her own
accord.

CHAPTER XX.

CROOKED CONFIDENCES.

About noon on the same day which Jean and her husband spent so happily
together by the Devon sea, two men of about thirty-five met in the cosy
little American bar of a well-known London hotel.

Both were wealthy Americans, smartly dressed in summer tweeds, and wore
soft felt hats of American shape.

One, a tall, thin, hard-faced man, who had been drinking a cocktail and
chatting with the barmaid while awaiting his friend, turned as the other
entered, and in his pronounced American accent exclaimed:

"Halloa, boy! Thought you weren't coming. Say, you're late."

The other--dark, clean-shaven, with a broad brow, and rather
good-looking--grasped his friend's hand and ordered a drink. Then,
tossing it off at one gulp, he walked with his friend into the adjoining
smoking-room, where they could be alone.

"What's up?" asked the newcomer, in a low, eager voice.

"Look here, Hoggan, my boy," exclaimed the taller of the two to the
newcomer, "I'm glad you've come along. I 'phoned you to your hotel at
half-past ten, but you were out. It seems there's trouble over that game
of poker you played with those two boys in Knightsbridge last night.
They've been to the police, so you'd better clear out at once."

"The police!" echoed the other, his dark brows knit. "Awkward, isn't
it?"

"Very. You go, old chap. Get across the Channel as quick as ever you
can, or I guess you'll have some unwelcome visitors. Don't go back to
the hotel. Abandon your traps, and clear out right away."

Silas P. Hoggan, the man with the broad brow, had no desire to make
further acquaintance with the police. As a cosmopolitan adventurer
he had lived for the past six years a life of remarkable experiences
in Vienna, Berlin, St. Petersburg, and Rome. He posed as a financier,
and had matured many schemes for public companies in all the
capitals--companies formed to exploit all sorts of enterprises, all
of which, however, had placed money in his pocket.

Two years before he had been worth thirty thousand pounds, the proceeds
of various crooked businesses. At that moment he had been in San
Francisco, when, by an unlucky mischance, a scheme of his had failed,
ingenious as it was, and now he found himself living in an expensive
hotel in London, with scarcely sufficient to settle