leeping between two in the morning and
noon. I work at night and I had intended working to-night."

"Oh, you can switch me off when you like," said Jones.

Supper being finished, Kellerman fastened the window, and, carrying the
lamp, led the way to a comfortably furnished study. Here he produced
cigars and put a little kettle on a spirit stove to make tea.

Then, sitting opposite to his host, in a comfortable armchair, Jones
began his story.

He had told his infernal story so often that one might have fancied it a
painful effort, even to begin. It was not. He had now an audience in
touch with him. He suppressed names, or rather altered them,
substituting Manchester for Rochester and Birdwood for Birdbrook. The
audience did not care, it recked nothing of titles, it wanted Story--and
it got it.

At about one o'clock the recital was interrupted whilst tea was made, at
two o'clock or a little after the tale finished.

"Well?" said Jones.

Kellerman was leaning back in his chair with eyes half closed, he seemed
calculating something in his head.

"D' you believe me?"

Kellerman opened his eyes.

"Of course I believe you. If you had invented all that you would be
clever enough to know what your invention is worth and not hand it out
to a stranger. But I doubt whether anyone else will believe
you--however, that is your affair--you have given me five reels of the
finest stuff, or at least the material for it, and if I ever care to use
it I will fix you up a contract giving you twenty-five per cent
royalties. But there's one thing you haven't given me--the denouement.
I'm more than interested in that. I'm not thinking of money, I'm a film
actor at heart and I want to help in the play. Say, may I help?"

"How?"

"Come along with you to the end, give all the assistance in my power--or
even without that just watch the show. I want to see the last act for
I'm blessed if I can imagine it."

"I'd rather not," said Jones. "You might get to know the real names of
the people I'm dealing with, and as there is a woman in the business I
don't feel I ought to give her name away even to you. No. I reckon I'll
pull through alone, but if you'd give me a sofa to sleep on to-night I'd
be grateful. Then I can get away in the morning."

Kellerman did not press the point.

"I'll give you better than a sofa," he said. "There's a spare bed, and
you'd better not start in the morning; give them time to cool down. Then
towards evening