ore," Tavernake
admitted. "She seemed simply terrified to death. I do not know why--she
didn't explain--but that is how she looked."

"Yet she sent you away!"

"She sent me away. She didn't care what became of me. She was watching
the door all the time before he came. Who is he, Pritchard?"

"That sounds a simple question," Pritchard answered gravely, "but it
means a good deal. There's mischief afoot to-night, Tavernake."

"You seem to thrive on it," Tavernake retorted, drily. "Any more
bunkum?"

Pritchard smiled.

"Come," he said, "you're a sensible chap. Take these things for what
they're worth. Believe me when I tell you now that there is a great deal
more in the coming of this man than Mrs. Wenham Gardner ever bargained
for."

"I wish you'd tell me who he is," Tavernake begged. "All this mystery
about Beatrice and her sister, and that lazy old hulk of a father, is
most irritating."

Pritchard nodded sympathetically.

"You'll have to put up with it a little longer, I'm afraid, my young
friend," he declared. "You've done me a good turn; I'll do you one. I'll
give you some good advice. Keep out of this place so long as the old man
and his daughter are hanging out here. The girl 's clever--oh, she's
as clever as they make them--but she's gone wrong from the start. They
ain't your sort, Tavernake. You don't fit in anywhere. Take my advice
and hook it altogether."

Tavernake shook his head.

"I can't do that just now," he said. "Good-night! I'm off for the
present, at any rate."

Pritchard, too, rose to his feet. He passed his arm through Tavernake's.

"Young man," he remarked, "there are not many in this country whom I can
trust. You're one of them. There's a sort of solidity about you that I
rather admire. You are not likely to break out and do silly things. Do
you care for adventures?"

"I detest them," Tavernake answered, "especially the sort I tumbled into
the other night."

Pritchard laughed softly. They had left the room now and were walking
along the open space at the end of the restaurant, leading to the main
exit.

"That's the difference between us," he declared thoughtfully. "Now
adventures to me are the salt of my life. I hang about here and watch
these few respectable-looking men and women, and there doesn't seem to
be much in it to an outsider, but, gee whiz! there's sometimes things
underneath which you fellows don't tumble to. A man asks another in
there to have a drink. They make a