ey--he no
sooner had it than it was gone. His house in Sydenham was little short
of a palace; whilst, it was said, he almost rivalled royalty, in
magnificent display, whenever he entertained. The result of all this
reckless expenditure was no uncommon one--he ran through considerably
more than he earned and--as there was no one else to help him--he
invariably came down on John Martin. It was "Jack, old boy, I'm damned
sorry, but I must have another thousand;" or, "Jack! these infernal
scamps of creditors are worrying the life out of me, can you, will
you, lend me a trifle--a couple of thousand will do it"--and so on--so
on, ad infinitum. John Martin never refused, and at the time of
Davenport's illness, the latter owed him something like a hundred
thousand pounds.

Fortunately John Martin, though far from parsimonious, was careful. He
had an excellent business head, and, thanks to his sagacious share in
the management, the business remained solvent. He knew Davenport's
capacity--that nowhere could he have found another such a brilliant
genius in conjuring--nor, apart from his thriftlessness, any one so
thoroughly reliable. In Davenport's keeping all the great tricks they
had invented--and great tricks they undoubtedly were--were absolutely
safe.

Despite the fact that they had repeatedly offered big sums of money to
any one who could discover the secret of how they were done, every
attempt to do so had utterly failed. The Mysteries of Martin and
Davenport's Home of Wonder, in the Kingsway, baffled the world. Of
course one thing had helped them enormously--namely, they had no
rivals. So colossal was their reputation, that no one else had ever
even thought of setting up in opposition.

And now one of the two great master-minds, that had accomplished all
these marvels and acquired such universal fame, was stricken down,
checkmated by the still greater power of nature; and his
colleague--the only other man in existence who shared his
knowledge--was obliged to rack his brain as to what was now to be
done--done for the continuance and prosperity of the firm.

After finishing her breakfast Gladys joined her aunt in the garden.

"To dream of flowers and trees evidently means bad news," she said.
"But as I feel in a mood for a walk, I shall call at the Vicarage."

"What, now! At this hour!" Miss Templeton cried aghast.

"Why not?" Gladys said imperturbably. "I'm not going to pay a call.
They haven't called on us. I shal