said, in that austerely
nettled voice which he always assumes when he loses at cards;
"but--I'll settle it with you to-morrow."

"Another round?" the host asked, beaming.

"No, thank you," Charles answered; "Mr. Coleyard's inspirations
come too pat for my taste. His luck beats mine. I retire from the
game, Senator."

Just at that moment a servant entered, bearing a salver, with a
small note in an envelope. "For Mr. Coleyard," he observed; "and
the messenger said, _urgent_."

Coleyard tore it open hurriedly. I could see he was agitated. His
face grew white at once.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said. "I--I must go back instantly. My
wife is dangerously ill--quite a sudden attack. Forgive me, Senator.
Sir Charles, you shall have your revenge to-morrow."

It was clear that his voice faltered. We felt at least he was a man
of feeling. He was obviously frightened. His coolness forsook him.
He shook hands as in a dream, and rushed downstairs for his
dust-coat. Almost as he closed the front door, a new guest entered,
just missing him in the vestibule.

"Halloa, you men," he said, "we've been taken in, do you know? It's
all over the Lotus. The man we made an honorary member of the club
to-day is _not_ Algernon Coleyard. He's a blatant impostor. There's
a telegram come in on the tape to-night saying Algernon Coleyard is
dangerously ill at his home in England."

Charles gasped a violent gasp. "Colonel Clay!" he shouted, aloud.
"And once more he's done me. There's not a moment to lose. After
him, gentlemen! after him!"

Never before in our lives had we had such a close shave of catching
and fixing the redoubtable swindler. We burst down the stairs in a
body, and rushed out into Fifth Avenue. The pretended poet had only
a hundred yards' start of us, and he saw he was discovered. But he
was an excellent runner. So was I, weight for age; and I dashed
wildly after him. He turned round a corner; it proved to lead
nowhere, and lost him time. He darted back again, madly. Delighted
with the idea that I was capturing so famous a criminal, I redoubled
my efforts--and came up with him, panting. He was wearing a light
dust-coat. I seized it in my hands. "I've got you at last!" I cried;
"Colonel Clay, I've got you!"

He turned and looked at me. "Ha, old Ten Per Cent!" he called out,
struggling. "It's you, then, is it? Never, never to _you_, sir!" And
as he spoke, he somehow flung his arms straight out behind him, and
let the dust-