iftly.

Tavernake shook his head.

"With Miss Beatrice," he answered.

Pritchard set down his glass.

"Say, Tavernake," he inquired, "you are friendly with that young lady,
Miss Beatrice, aren't you?"

"I certainly am," Tavernake answered. "I have a very great regard for
her."

"Then I can tell you how to do her a good turn," Pritchard continued,
earnestly. "Keep her away from that old blackguard. Keep her away from
all the gang. Believe me, she is looking for trouble by even speaking to
them."

"But the man's her father," Tavernake objected, "and he seems fond of
her."

"Don't you believe it," Pritchard went on. "He's fond of nothing and
nobody but himself and easy living. He's soft, mind you, he's got plenty
of sentiment, he 'll squeeze a tear out of his eye, and all that sort
of thing, but he'd sell his soul, or his daughter's soul, for a little
extra comfort. Now Elizabeth doesn't know exactly where her sister is,
and she daren't seem anxious, or go around making inquiries. Beatrice
has her chance to keep away, and I can tell you it will be a thundering
sight better for her if she does."

"Well, I don't understand it at all," Tavernake declared. "I hate
mysteries."

Pritchard set down his empty glass.

"Look here," he remarked, "this affair is too serious, after all, for us
to talk round like a couple of gossips. I have given you your warning,
and if you're wise you 'll remember it."

"Tell me this one thing," Tavernake persisted. "Tell me what is the
cause of the quarrel between the two? Can't something be done to bring
them together again?"

Pritchard shook his head.

"Nothing," he answered. "As things are at present, they are better
apart. Coming my way?"

Tavernake followed him out of the place. Pritchard took his arm as he
turned down toward the Strand.

"My young friend," he said, "here is a word of advice for you. The
Scriptures say that you cannot serve God and mammon. Paraphrase that to
the present situation and remember that you cannot serve Elizabeth and
Beatrice."

"What then?" Tavernake demanded.

The detective waited until he had lit the long black cigar between his
teeth.

"I guess you'd better confine your attentions to Beatrice," he
concluded.

CHAPTER XXII. DINNER WITH ELIZABETH

The rest of that day was for Tavernake a period of feverish anxieties.
He received two telegrams from Mr. Martin, his solicitor, and he
himself was more uneasy than he cared to admit