arently he did realise--apparently he had some imagination, for he
replied:

"I imagine it is much too late for us to be talking here together. I'm
going to ring the bell."

"No," she cried.

"My man will get you a cab."

"If you ring you'll be sorry."

"Life is full of regrets," he answered, and pressed the button.

He saw the startled gesture she made to prevent him and simultaneously
the hall and the bedroom doors were thrown open and three gentlemen,
each levelling a revolver at his head, advanced into the room.

CHAPTER 9.

AN INVITATION TO STAY.

To a person of less even temperament than Richard the unexpected
appearance of these three gentlemen marching in the wake of nickel
plated shooting irons might well have aroused feelings of alarm and
indignation. But for a matter of some four years Richard had been shot
over pretty thoroughly and the lessons of calm learnt in the hard
school of war did not desert him in the present situation. He felt,
moreover, a curious certainty that the chance of bullets flying around
was pretty remote. The primary necessity was to keep his head and
avoid any word or action that might betray the fact that he was not the
man they believed him to be. The name Van Diest, which had occurred in
his conversation with the girl, came quickly to his brain and he
glanced from one to another in the hope of determining whether its
bearer was present.

His eyes were held by a short rotund person of advanced middle age who
occupied the centre of the room. In outline this person was distinctly
Dutch. His face was heavily pleated, with dewlaps pendant from the
jaw. He wore side whiskers that did not make a good pair and dark
bushy brows almost concealed his small, twinkly eyes. He possessed
very little hair, but what there was had been pasted in thin separated
strands across the shiny bald pate. A low collar of enormous
circumference encircled his short neck and his tie was drawn through a
Zodiac ring. His clothes were ill-fitting--shapeless trousers and a
voluminous morning coat, in the buttonhole of which was a pink
carnation with a silver papered stem, an immense watch-chain spread
across a coarsely knitted waistcoat of Berlin wool. And he seemed out
of breath. The pistol in his extended hand vibrated in sympathy with
an accelerated pulse rate.

Richard's left hand wandered carelessly to his hip.

"Look here, Mr. Van Diest," he said, "were you never taught that i