sort of backward wings, like fish-hooks--father's got
a horrid arrow like that--won't come out again without tearing. Yours
won't ever, Dick."

CHAPTER XXIV.

"KUK-KUK-KUK-KATIE."

Soft, even light filled the wide entrance hall of No. -- Park Lane.

The single, expressionless footman appeared almost hopeful, knowing his
release was near; for the time was only twenty minutes short of
midnight.

The road between the front door and the park railings was almost as
peaceful as the houses on its one side, and the grass and trees on the
other. Hardly a hoof on the wood, and but a rare motor rushing, at
intervals, with soft, apologetic speed over the thoroughfare from north
to south.

But there came at last a taxi--Charles, in spite of thick door and
perfect roadway, recognised its venal characteristics--a taxi which
hesitated, stopped, started again, and came to rest at the very door of
No. --.

Though his ears could scarce believe it on that Saturday night, when
there was not within earshot any function or reception going on, there
came feet up those splendid, shallow steps--feet which seemed to halt,
and even vacillate beneath a swaying body.

The mere suspicion was shocking; but even worse, to that cultivated ear,
was the clamour of the bell which followed.

But when, having opened the door, Charles examined the ringer, he was
astounded, not to say appalled.

The man, though his eyes were heavy and his voice that of one driving
himself to the limit of his strength, was certainly not intoxicated; for
in that matter, Charles the footman knew and trusted the nicety of his
own judgment. But the condition of the dress, the cut cheek-bone, the
puffy eye above it, the dirty hands with raw knuckles, and the pockets
grotesquely bulging, made a picture so painfully in contrast with the
house and its quarter, that the footman's face lost its habitual
expression of restrained good-humour under a mask of severity altogether
tragic.

For a moment he hesitated: to ask this scarecrow his business would
concede him the right to exist; and the ruffian's undamaged eye and his
assured carriage were plain warning against any concession whatsoever.

The visitor, therefore, spoke first, even as if he had been respectable.

"I want to see Mr. Bruffin," he said.

"Not at home," replied Charles, trying to boom like a butler.

"Then I'll wait till he comes," said Dick Bellamy, taking a step forward
in spite of the door and