the table. Already his first
swift glance had taken in the details of the little apartment. The
overcoat and hat which Tavernake had worn the night before lay by his
side. The table was still arranged for some meal of the previous day.
Apart from these things, a single glance assured him that Tavernake had
not been to bed.

Pritchard drew up an easy-chair and seated himself deliberately.

"My young friend," he announced, "I have come to the conclusion that you
need some more advice."

Tavernake rose to his feet. His own reflection in the looking-glass
startled him. His hair was crumpled, his tie undone, the marks of his
night of agony were all too apparent. He felt himself at a disadvantage.

"How did you find me out?" he asked. "I never gave you my address."

Pritchard smiled.

"Even in this country, with a little help," he said, "those things are
easy enough. I made up my mind that this morning would be to some extent
a crisis with you. You know, Tavernake, I am not a man who says much,
but you are the right sort. You've been in with me twice when I should
have missed you if you hadn't been there."

Tavernake seemed to have lost the power of speech. He had relapsed again
into his place upon the sofa. He simply waited.

"How in the name of mischief," Pritchard continued, impressively, "you
came to be mixed up in the lives of this amiable trio, I cannot imagine!
I am not saying a word against Miss Beatrice, mind. All that surprises
me is that you and she should ever have come together, or, having come
together, that you should ever have exchanged a word. You see, I am here
to speak plain truths. You are, I take it, a good sample of the hard,
stubborn, middle-class Briton. These three people of whom I have spoken,
belong--Miss Beatrice, perhaps, by force of circumstances--but still
they do belong to the land of Bohemia. However, when one has got over
the surprise of finding you on intimate terms with Miss Beatrice,
there comes a more amazing thing. You, with hard common sense written
everywhere in your face, have been prepared at any moment, for all I
know are prepared now, to make an utter and complete idiot of yourself
over Elizabeth Gardner."

Still Tavernake did not speak. Pritchard looked at him curiously.

"Say," he went on, "I have come here to do you a service, if I can. So
far as I know at present, this very wonderful young lady has kept on the
right side of the law. But see here, Tavernake, she's be