e wardrobe came within his
field of vision. Still farther he moved. The doors, now, were visible.

And the gleaming barrel pointed truly at his head!

"No; no!" he whispered tremulously, huskily. "Ah, God! no! Spare me! I
swear--I swear--I will not look again. I won't move. I'll make no
sound."

He dropped his head into his hands--quaking; the lamp, the table, were
swimming about him; he had never passed through ten such seconds of
dread as those which followed his spell of temerity.

Yet he lived--and knew himself spared. Not for _five_ hundred thousand
pounds would he have looked again.

The minutes wore on--became hours. It seemed to Julius Rohscheimer that
all London slept now; all London save one unhappy man in Park Lane.

Three o'clock, four o'clock, five o'clock struck. His head fell forward.
He aroused himself with a jerk. Again his head fell forward. And this
time he did not arouse himself; he slept.

* * * * *

"Mr. Rohscheimer! Mr. Rohscheimer!"

There were voices about him. He could distinguish that of his wife.
Adeler was shaking him. Was that Haredale at the door?

Shakily, he got upon his feet.

"Why, Mr. Rohscheimer!" exclaimed Adeler, in blank wonderment, "have you
not been to bed?"

"What time?" muttered Rohscheimer, "what time----"

Sir Richard Haredale, who evidently thought that the financier had had
one of his "heavy nights," smiled discreetly.

"Pull yourself together, Rohscheimer!" he said. "Just put your head
under the tap and jump into a dressing-gown. The green one with golden
dragons is the most unique. You'll have to hold an informal reception
here in your dressing-room. We can't keep the Marquess waiting."

"The Marquess?" groaned Rohscheimer, clutching at his head. "The
Marquess?"

It had been his social dream for years to behold a real live Marquess
beneath that roof. He had gone so far as to offer Haredale five hundred
pounds down if he could bring one to dinner. But Haredale's best
achievement to date had been Lord Vignoles.

Rohscheimer's mind was a furious chaos. Had the horrors of the night
been no more than a dream, after all?

Sheard, of the _Gleaner_, pressed forward and grasped both his hands.
Rohscheimer became ghastly pale.

"Mr. Rohscheimer," said the pressman, "England is proud of you! On such
occasions as this, all formality--_all_ formality--is swept away. A
great man is great anywhere--at any time, any place, in any ga