ess of my tone amused him.

"What has made such an indelible impression on your mind?"

"I can't forget----" I blurted out, moved both by reluctance to yield
over my dreams of Joanna and by a desire to show off my familiarity with
French, "I can't forget about _ces petits pieds si adores_."

The smile died from his face, which assumed a queer, scared expression.
He went to the window and stood there so long, that I, in my turn grew
scared. I realised dimly what I had done, and I could have bitten my
tongue out. I drew near him.

"Master," said I timidly.

He did not seem to hear; presently he picked up his hat from the bed and
walked out without taking any notice of me.

We did not refer to the papers again until long afterwards, and though
they lay unguarded as before in the old stocking, never till this
present day have I set my eyes on them.

CHAPTER IV

ONE May morning a year after my surprising of Paragot's secret, I awoke
later than usual, the three-and-sixpenny clock on the mantelpiece
marking eleven, and huddling on my clothes in alarm I left the foul
smelling Club room, and ran upstairs to arouse my master.

To my astonishment he was not alone. A stout florid man, wearing a white
waistcoat which bellied out like the sail of a racing yacht, a frock
coat and general resplendency of garb, stood planted in the middle of
the room, while Paragot still in nightshirt but trousered, sat swinging
his leg on a corner of the deal table. I noticed the fiddle which
Paragot had evidently been playing before his visitor's arrival, lying
on the disordered bed.

"Who the devil is this?" cried the fat man angrily.

"This is Mr. Asticot, my private secretary, who cooks my herrings and
attends to my correspondence. Usually he cooks two, but if you will join
us at breakfast Mr. Hogson----"

"Pogson," bawled the fat man.

"I beg your pardon," said my master sweetly. "If you will join us at
breakfast he will cook three."

"Damn your breakfast," said Mr. Pogson.

"Only two then, Asticot. This gentleman has already breakfasted. You
will forgive us for not treating you as a stranger."

Mr. Pogson, who was in a rage, thumped the table with his hand.

"I'll give you to understand Mr. Henkendyke, that I am the proprietor of
this club. I have bought it with my money, and I'm not going to see it
go to eternal glory as it's doing under your management. I'm not like
that old ass Ballantyne. I'm a business man and I'