he would bite. He would strike. He would attack,
careless of everything, heedless of everything.

A mesmerised looking taxi-cab, crawling along on the opposite side of
the way, fortunately caught his eye.

"I'll make hay!" cried Jones, as he rushed across the street. He stopped
the cab.

"10A, Carlton House Terrace," he cried to the driver. He got in and shut
the door with a bang.

He got out at Carlton House Terrace, ran up the steps of 10A, and rang
the bell.

The door was opened by the man who had helped to eject Spicer. He did
not seem in the least surprised to see Jones.

"Pay that taxi," said Jones.

"Yes, my Lord," replied the flunkey.

Jones turned to the breakfast-room. The faint smell of coffee met him at
the door as he opened it. There were no servants in the room. Only a
woman quietly breakfasting with the Life of St. Thomas a Kempis by her
plate.

It was Venetia Birdbrook.

She half rose from her chair when she saw Jones. He shut the door. The
sight of Venetia acted upon him almost as badly as the word "Sunday" had
done.

"What are you doing here?" said he. "I know--you and that lot had me
tucked away in a lunatic asylum; now you have taken possession of the
house."

Venetia was quite calm.

"Since the house is not yours," said she, "I fail to see how my presence
here affects you. We know the truth. Dr. Simms has arrived at the
conclusion that your confession was at least based on truth. That you
are what you proclaimed yourself to be, a man named Jones. We thought
you were mad, we see now that you are an impostor. Kindly leave this
house or I will call for a policeman."

Jones' mind lost all its fire. Hatred can cool as well as inflame and he
hated Venetia and all her belongings, including her dowager mother and
her uncle the duke, with a hatred well based on reason and fact. All his
fear of mind disturbance should he go on playing the part of Rochester
had vanished, the fires of tribulation had purged them away.

"I don't know what you are talking about," said he. "Do you mean that
joke I played on you all? I am the Earl of Rochester, this is my house,
and I request you to leave it. Don't speak. I know what you are going to
say. You and your family will do this and you will do that. You will do
nothing. Even if I were an impostor you would dare to do nothing. Your
family washing is far, far too much soiled to expose it in public.

"If I were an impostor, who can say I have not playe