t comes to him with a
cock-and-bull tale about the Secretary of State."

Mr. Green leered again, and produced a paper. "There," said he, "is my
Lord Carteret's warrant, signed and sealed."

Mr. Caryll glanced over it with a disdainful eye. "It is in blank," said
he.

"Just so," agreed Mr. Green. "Carte blanche, as you say over the water.
If you insist," he offered obligingly, "I'll fill in your name before we
proceed."

Mr. Caryll shrugged his shoulders. "It might be well," said he, "if you
are to search me at all."

Mr. Green advanced to the table. The writing implements provided for the
wedding were still there. He took up a pen, scrawled a name across the
blank, dusted it with sand, and presented it again to Mr. Caryll. The
latter nodded.

"I'll not trouble you to search me," said he. "I would as soon not have
these noblemen of yours for my valets." He thrust his hands into the
pockets of his fine coat, and brought forth several papers. These
he proffered to Mr. Green, who took them between satisfaction and
amazement. Ostermore stared, too stricken for words at this meek
surrender; and well was it for Mr. Caryll that he was so stricken, for
had he spoken he had assuredly betrayed himself.

Hortensia, Mr. Caryll observed, watched his cowardly yielding with an
eye of stern contempt. Rotherby looked on with a dark face that betrayed
nothing.

Meanwhile Mr. Green was running through the papers, and as fast as he
ran through them he permitted himself certain comments that passed for
humor with his followers. There could be no doubt that in his own social
stratum Mr. Green must have been accounted something of a wag.

"Ha! What's this? A bill! A bill for snuff! My Lord Carteret'll snuff
you, sir. He'll tobacco you, ecod! He'll smoke you first, and snuff you
afterwards." He flung the bill aside. "Phew!" he whistled. "Verses! 'To
Theocritus upon sailing for Albion.' That's mighty choice! D'ye write
verses, sir?"

"Heyday! 'Tis an occupation to which I have succumbed in moments of
weakness. I crave your indulgence, Mr. Green."

Mr. Green perceived that here was a weak attempt at irony, and went on
with his investigations. He came to the last of the papers Mr. Caryll
had handed him, glanced at it, swore coarsely, and dropped it.

"D'ye think ye can bubble me?'" he cried, red in the face.

Lord Ostermore heaved a sigh of relief; the hard look had faded from
Hortensia's eyes.

"What is't ye mean, giving me thi