se, with you, if you are gallant enough to
offer me your escort, and I shall go straight to Cavendish Square. You
have no imagination, Colonel Ray, or you would not be so utterly
surprised. Think for a moment. Does no reason occur to you why the
Duke might wish to see me?"

It obviously did. He frowned heavily.

"If this absurd story is true," he said, "and the Duke has really sent
to ask news of Blenavon from you--well, he is a bigger fool than I took
him for. But there remains something else to be explained. What are
those papers?"

My father laid his trembling hands upon them.

"They have nothing to do with you," he explained; "nothing at all! It
is a little family matter-between Guy and me. Nothing more. They
belong to me. Damn you, Ray, why are you always interfering in my
concerns?"

Ray turned to me. There was a look in his eyes which I readily
understood. At that moment I think that I hated him.

"What are those papers?" he asked.

"Take them and see," I answered. "If I told you you would not believe
me."

He moved a few steps towards them, and then paused. I saw that my
father was leaning forward, and in his shaking hand was a tiny gleaming
revolver. A certain desperate courage seemed to have come to him.

"Ray," he cried hoarsely, "touch them at your peril!"

There was a moment's breathless silence. Then with an incredibly swift
movement my stepmother stepped in between and snatched up the little
roll. She glanced behind at the grate, but the fire was almost extinct.
With a little gesture of despair she held them out to me. "Take them,
Guy," she cried.

Ray stood by my side, and I felt his hand descend like a vice upon my
shoulder.

"Give me those papers," he demanded.

I hesitated for a moment. Then I obeyed him. I heard a little sob from
behind. The pistol had fallen from my father's shaking fingers, his
head had fallen forwards upon his hands. A tardy remorse seemed for a
moment to have pierced the husk of his colossal selfishness.

"It is all my fault, my fault!" he muttered.

My stepmother turned upon him, pale to the lips, with blazing eyes.

"You are out of your senses," she exclaimed. "Guy, this man is a bully.
All his life it has been his pleasure to persecute the weak and
defenceless. The papers are yours. I do not know what they are, nor
does he," she added, pointing to where my father still crouched before
the table. "Don't let him frighten you into giving them up. He is
tryin