a word
with Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllable
beyond what was barely needed.

As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware of
being covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P.C. Robinson peering from
behind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door,
and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife and
gazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him from
the "snug."

These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.
He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, if
she called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatise
on earth-tides.

But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,
eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in order
to clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin's mind, when
Minnie Bates came with a card.

"If you please, sir," said the girl, "this gentleman is very pressing.
He says he's sure you'll give him an interview when you see his name."

So Grant looked, and read:--

MR. ISIDOR G. INGERMAN

_Prince's Chambers, London, W._

CHAPTER IV

A CABAL

Grant stared again at the card. A tiny silver bell seemed to tinkle a
sort of warning in a recess of his brain. The name was not engraved in
copper-plate, but printed in heavy type. Somehow, it looked ominous. His
first impression was to bid Minnie send the man away. He distrusted any
first impression. It was the excuse of mediocrity, a sign of weakness.
Moreover, why shouldn't he meet Isidor G. Ingerman?

"Show him in," he said, almost gruffly, thus silencing shy intuition, as
it were. He threw the card on the table.

Mr. Ingerman entered. He did not offer any conventional greeting, but
nodded, or bowed. Grant could not be sure which form of salutation was
intended, because the visitor promptly sat down, uninvited.

Minnie hesitated at the door. Her master's callers were usually cheerful
Bohemians, who chatted at sight. Then she caught Grant's eye, and went
out, banging the door in sheer nervousness.

Still Mr. Ingerman did not speak. If this was a pose on his part, he
erred. Grant had passed through a trying day, but he owned the muscles
and nerves of an Alpine climber, and had often stared calmly down a wall
of rock and ice which he had just conquered, when the least slip would
have meant being das