hat gentleman,' answered Fitzpatrick, 'I hope he isn't a friend of
yours, and that you have not lent him money?'

'Neither; but I want to know all you can tell me about him.'

'You shall have it in black and white, out of my Cuban note-book,'
replied the other, unlocking a drawer in the official table; 'I always
take notes of anything worth recording, on the spot. A man is a fool who
trusts to memory, where personal character is at stake. Montesma is as
well known at Havana as the Morro Fort or the Tacon Theatre. I have
heard stories enough about him to fill a big volume; but all the facts
recorded there'--striking the morocco cover of the note-book--'have been
thoroughly sifted; I can vouch for them.'

He looked at the index, found the page, and handed the book to Lord
Hartfield.

'Read for yourself,' he said, quietly.

Lord Hartfield read three or four pages of plain statement as to various
adventures by sea and land in which Gomez de Montesma had figured, and
the reputation which he bore in Cuba and on the Main.

'You can vouch for this?' he said at last, after a long silence.

'For every syllable.'

'The story of his marriage?'

'Gospel truth: I knew the lady.'

'And the rest?'

'All true.'

'A thousand thanks. I know now upon what ground I stand. I have to save
an innocent, high-bred girl from the clutches of a consummate
scoundrel.'

'Shoot him, and shoot her, too, if there's no better way of saving her.
It will be an act of mercy,' said Mr. Fitzpatrick, without hesitation.

CHAPTER XLII.

'SHALL IT BE?'

While Lord Hartfield sat in his friend's office in Great George Street
reading the life story of Gomez de Montesma, told with the cruel
precision and the unvarnished language of a criminal indictment, the
hero of that history was gliding round the spacious ballroom of the
Cowes Club, with Lady Lesbia Haselden's dark-brown head almost reclining
on his shoulder, her violet eyes looking up at his every now and then,
shyly, entrancingly, as he bent his head to talk to her.

The Squadron Ball was in full swing between midnight and the first hour
of morning. The flowers had not lost their freshness, the odours of dust
and feverish human breath had not yet polluted the atmosphere. The
windows were open to the purple night, the purple sea. The stars seemed
to be close outside the verandah, shining on purpose for the dancers;
and these two--the man tall, pale, dark, with flashing eyes and sho