otal lack of proof as to who committed the crime. But the consciousness
that those whom he hated would know positively who was back of the crime
was the sweetest thought of all. And Travers was coming this morning to
make his report; this had been Marston's last order. He might arrive at
any moment, and Marston wanted his breakfast before listening to good
news, for it would sound better upon a full stomach. He opened a door
and rudely bawled an order into vacancy, but a fear-filled negro's voice
answered him in assuring words. His rule was one of absolute terror. His
servants were no more to him than so many dogs, and they obeyed him as
such. When he sat down to his meal a few minutes later an ill-favoured
negro youth waited upon him, and a slatternly wench appeared at times
from the kitchen, bringing new dishes to the door. Marston ate
repulsively, as befitted his birth and character, and took an intense
delight in his meal, which was coarse and poorly prepared. Throughout it
all he listened repeatedly for his expected caller, and when he rose
from the table there was not the slightest suspicion in his mind that
anything had gone wrong. He would go to the stable and have a look at
his favourite racers. The last barrier which stood in the way of their
supremacy had been removed, and he would gloat over them with increased
pleasure now. He issued some harsh orders for directing his caller when
he should arrive, and left the house with quick strides.

As he walked around and about the noble animals which were his greatest
pride his heart swelled with exultation. But when he came out of a stall
presently and saw the man for whom he had been waiting standing before
him, a swift alarm seized him and made his dark face pale. For a moment
they stood staring into each other's eyes, one with mounting anger, the
other with sullen passiveness. Then Marston strode forward and thrust
his darkening visage close to Travers' face.

"Didn't you do it, you sneak?" he demanded, his upper lip curling back,
showing his fangs. "Don't you dare to tell me you have failed me!"

Travers' accustomed nervousness had vanished. He was perfectly calm as
he stood within arm's length of the infuriated Marston.

"I'm the man to make a fuss," he answered, "for you steered me into a
hole which nearly cost me my life. I was discovered, captured, and had
to tell all the business to get off with a whole skin!"

Marston's face grew black, and he shook in