rds,
and the low murmuring of insects. Peter Ruff stood like a man turned to
stone, for even as he looked these things passed away from before his
eyes, the roar of the world beat in his ears--the world of intrigue, of
crime, the world where the strong man hewed his way to power, and the
weaklings fell like corn before the sickle.

* * * * *

"_It is the desire of Madame!_"

Peter Ruff clenched his fists as he read the words once more. It was a
message from a world every memory of which had been deliberately
crushed--a world, indeed, in which he had seemed no longer to hold any
place. He was Peter Ruff, Esquire, of Aynesford Manor, in the County of
Somerset. It could not be for him, this strange summons.

The rustle of a woman's soft draperies broke in upon his reverie. He
turned round with his usual morning greeting upon his lips. She was,
without doubt, a most beautiful woman: petite, and well moulded, with
the glow of health in her eyes and on her cheeks. She came smiling to
him--a dream of muslin and pink ribbons.

"Another forage bill, my dear Peter?" she demanded, passing her arm
through his. "Put it away and admire my new morning gown. It came
straight from Paris, and you will have to pay a great deal of money for
it."

He pulled himself together--he had no secrets from his wife.

"Listen," he said, and read aloud:

"_Rue de St. Quintaine, Paris._

"DEAR MR. RUFF,--_It is a long time since we had the
pleasure of a visit from you. It is the desire of Madame that you
should join our circle here on Thursday evening next, at ten
o'clock._--SOGRANGE."

Violet was a little perplexed. She failed, somehow, to recognise the
sinister note underlying those few sentences.

"It sounds friendly enough," she remarked. "You are not obliged to go,
of course."

Peter Ruff smiled grimly.

"Yes, it sounds all right," he admitted.

"They won't expect you to take any notice of it, surely?" she continued.
"When you bought this place, Peter, you gave them definitely to
understand that you had retired into private life, that all these things
were finished with you."

"There are some things," Peter Ruff said slowly, "which are never
finished."

"But you resigned," she reminded him. "I remember your letter
distinctly."

"From the Double Four," he answered, "no resignation is recognised save
death. I did what I could, and they accepted my explanations gracefully