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      MR. GEORGE GRANTAM, by the exercise of a business talent which amounted to genius, succeeded within twenty short years in establishing on the humblest beginnings the largest general emporium in the world. Steadily and surely the insignificant little shop, with its one window and one youthful assistant, grew into palatial premises covering acres of ground; into a vast business which gave employment to thousands of people of both sexes, turned over millions of money in the year, and supplied a large portion of London with all the necessaries of life.

      Upon every step of the ladder to success and fortune, Mr. Grantam of course made enemies. His character was assailed and blackened; his prosperity was attributed to everything villainous, instead of to indomitable pluck and perseverance, and remarkable judgment and foresight; and the most absurd and defamatory rumours were circulated about him by the envious. In no respect, however, was his success impaired thereby. He had gained a firm hold upon the estimation of the general public, to whom he had become almost necessary.

      At last there came to him that terrible calamity, a large fire, by which a portion of his premises and an immense quantity of valuable stock were destroyed. Within a few months the building was replaced by a handsomer one, and business went on as usual. But other and still more destructive conflagrations followed, until at last the insurance companies became shy and refused to take any further risk. It was now said with a slanderous wink that there would be no more fires. Before twelve months had elapsed, however, another great fire occasioned Mr. Grantam a dead loss of some hundreds of thousands of pounds. In this case many circumstances combined to establish beyond all doubt the conclusion that the fire had been the work of an incendiary.

      Naturally enough Mr. Grantam now became animated with an intense desire to unearth his scoundrelly enemies and bring them to justice, and the steps he took bring me to my story, of which the foregoing is a prelude merely in the respect that, but for the circumstances related, I should have no story to tell.

      One fine morning not very long since a gentleman somewhat advanced in years might have been seen strolling leisurely through the main thoroughfares of the suburb of Nowork. The movements of the majority of the daily strollers in Nowork are leisurely, for the reason that the inhabitants of that charming suburb are for the most part complete idlers. Many of these idlers are wealthy; but the larger number of them being pensioners from the various branches of Her Majesty's services are genteelly poor.

      Our pedestrian, a tall, slight, upright man with a face which suggested tropical suns and curry, and a grey-brown mustache slightly off the horizontal, who was known to his tobacconist and to cabmen as "the General," and to his tradesmen as Lieutenant-Colonel Pherrett, was of the majority. His pension of a few hundreds a year was absolutely all that he had to live upon, and to a man of his nice tastes in dress, cuisinerie, wine, and cigars, this meant poverty indeed. As he strolled along on this particular morning, pausing occasionally as idlers do, to gaze vacantly into the shop windows, or to watch the most trivial incidents occurring in the street, the gallant colonel was not in a particularly contented frame of mind. His breakfast coffee had not been up to his ideal; the cigar he was smoking, for which he had just paid sixpence, was in vulgar phraseology a "wrong 'un," and he had in his pocket a polite letter from his wine merchant threatening a withdrawal of confidence unless a heavy outstanding bill was immediately settled. No wonder, then, that the Colonel was sad.

      "What I want," he thought, "is a fresh start, a thousand pounds or so to put me fairly on my feet. I could then live within my income. Why I've won or lost as much in one night at cards before now."

      Singularly enough, Lieutenant-Colonel Pherrett at that moment paused before a large hoarding which was covered with posters, on which was mentioned exactly the sum which he, in common with a few odd millions of his fellow creatures, required.

ONE THOUSAND POUNDS REWARD!
will be paid by
MR. GEORGE GRANTAM

for such information as will lead to the conviction of the person or persons who set fire to his premises on the 1st July.

      The Colonel read the notice, and then passed on reflectively. If he were only a detective, he thought. Dear, dear! What an opportunity! And the exact amount he wanted — no more, no less. But, bah! What was the use of thinking of it?

      But it was impossible not to think of it, for the Colonel could not raise his eyes from the pavement without encountering Mr. Grantam's handsome offer. It was literally dangling before the eyes of all London — on carts, 'buses, walls, sandwich men, and hoardings. Unconsciously, the Colonel began to plan what he would do if he were to gain the reward — how he would replenish his wardrobe, dismiss his cook and obtain a better one, pay his debts, and withdraw his patronage from the objectionable wine merchant. These pleasant reflections presently led to a startling proposition. Why should he not try for the reward? Derogatory to a gentleman? Certainly not! In its higher and broader aspects the occupation — no! say, rather, the art — of a detective was a noble one; and whether successful or not, his name need not appear. He was possessed of vast experience, a deep and keen knowledge of human nature, singular analytical powers, and he could read a man like a book! His time too, was all his own, and altogether, everything was in his favour. Given but the slightest clue, the Colonel felt confident of his ability to track down the detestable miscreants — and, he added slangily to himself, "pocket the dibs."

      Before coming to a decision, the Colonel thought he would again read the poster, probably to make sure that it contained no subtle clause by which Mr. Grantam would be able to evade payment.

      A sandwich-man, with the advertisement upon each of his boards was conveniently standing in the gutter close at hand. The Colonel stood at the man's back, and carefully weighed the terms of the offer. Exactly facing him, and reading from the other board, stood a tall, portly, and rather seedy man, who, judging from his garb, was, or had been, a clergyman. Looking up at the same moment, the eyes of the two gentleman met. Both changed colour and betrayed some little confusion. The Colonel turned on his heel, biting his lip at the thought that the seedy one might possibly have read his intentions in his expression. He had not gone many steps, however, before he paused and struck his stick heavily on the pavement. "What a fool I am!" he muttered; "there was something queer about that man. Why did he become so confused when he met my eye? He's poor, and looks like a parson gone wrong; poverty tempts to crime, and in my experience when a parson goes wrong he's the very devil — like a woman when she takes to drink. Grantam's enemies were more likely to employ a tool than to do the job themselves — such a fellow, for instance, as that. I think I'd better go after him."

      When the Colonel turned to carry out this intention, the first person he saw was the man he was in search of, and to the amateur detective there immediately came the singular conviction that he, himself, had been followed by the seedy one, who, however, as soon as he was observed, affected to look into a shop window. Retaining his habitual self-possession, the Colonel also affected to look into a window; and so the pair remained at their respective windows for some considerable time, each throwing at the other a keen and secret glance, at an acute angle from a middle-aged, and at the time, painfully distorted eye. It became an interesting problem as to which would move first, and a sportsman would have delighted to have wagered on the event. A knowing hand, taking into consideration his military training in the difficult art of standing still, would have backed the Colonel. And he would have won, for suddenly the stranger turned and crossed the road.

      The Colonel was equal to the occasion. With no display of haste or interest, he also turned, affecting to yawn the while, but sweeping the opposite side of the road with his eagle eye. There was the stranger — not making off at his best pace as might have been expected, but contemplatively rolling a cigarette between his fingers, and — yes, there could be no doubt of it! — furtively watching the Colonel's movements.

      "I must be wary," thought the latter. "The fact of this fellow watching my movements, seems to me to be full of significance. In the first place it points to a guilty conscience, else why should my scrutiny, which he has evidently discovered, occasion him any uneasiness? In the second place it proves him to be a singularly bold hand. Instead of flying from, he follows me, determined to learn the worst. Good! It is man to man. I will overmatch him!"

      The extraordinary evolutions and manœuvres which ensued on the part of these gentlemen must in their interesting detail be left to the reader's imagination, for they defy the chronicler's pen. Each man's design was to dog the other, and under such circumstances is it surprising that it took them two hours to compass the distance of half a mile? Now the Colonel finding himself in front would turn into a shop and watch for his game to pass. The stranger would stroll along, pause to look into the shop window perhaps, and then, when out of view, dart round a convenient corner and wait. Not seeing him anywhere, and thinking that he might have taken the opportunity to levant, the Colonel would hurry distractedly along, to discover eventually that the stranger was again in his rear. The Colonel had in his time hunted tigers — but what is a tiger hunt to a man hunt? And this was a dual man hunt! There was a special piquancy in it. The delirious sensations of the pursuer and the pursued were in this instance combined. A dozen times did the wily old officer outwit and out-manœuvre his opponent, and a dozen times was he in his turn outwitted, and out-manœuvred.

      The retired man of peace was evidently as accomplished a strategist as the retired man of war.

      At last there came a crisis. They had manœuvred each other into the neighbouring public gardens, and here the stranger, upon whom the pace appeared to have told, took a seat in the refreshing shade and wiped his broad damp brow with a well-worn silk handkerchief.

      "Run to earth at last!" murmured Colonel Pherrett, with a sigh of relief. "Now what shall be the next move?"

      The Colonel answered this question for himself by a movement worthy of his lionic courage. Without spending a moment in conjecturing the possible consequences of his temerity, he seated himself upon the farther end of the bench occupied by the stranger.

      Now, the reader will probably imagine that these two men would, suddenly realising the absurd and humorous side of the situation, simultaneously burst into loud laughter. Nothing of the kind. Gravity severe and unshakable had marked them both for her own. The Colonel reflectively executed hieroglyphics in the dust with the end of his cane! The clergyman twined his steel watchguard round his fat finger and gazed upwards. An onlooker might perhaps have said that this was perfectly natural — the thoughts of the destroyer of bodies being evidently fixed upon things below, and those of the mender of souls upon things above. He would, however, have guessed wide of the truth, for each gentleman was in fact racking all the subtlety of his intellect for a pretext for addressing his neighbour.

      At last the opportunity came. The Colonel drew forth his case, and proceeded to clip and light a fresh sixpenny cigar. Instantly the stranger produced from his vest pocket a consumptive looking cigarette. "Would you permit me," he begged, emphasising the "would."

      The Colonel, only too delighted, passed along his match-box, and so the ice was broken by the most trivial and commonplace of courtesies. Nothing was easier now than to glide into a general conversation. In half an hour the Colonel had made great progress. He learned that his new acquaintance was a church martyr. His ritual had overstepped the borders in the direction of papacy, and he had received his congé. As, however, he had not joined the elder church the Colonel shrewdly concluded that his services had not been desired, an opinion to which the somewhat dissipated and sensual features of the stranger added considerable weight. Altogether our detective saw or heard nothing to remove his suspicions of his person, notwithstanding the elegance of his manners and the refinement of his conversation.

      But it was now long past the Colonel's usual lunch hour, and he was feeling horribly peckish. What was to be done? So far he had learned nothing of value. Pleasure, in the shape of a dish of curry, called him home. Duty in the shape of Mr. Grantam's offer, bade him stick to his portly parson and possible incendiary. Need I say that the Colonel surmounted this difficulty with his customary address? In the very simplicity of the course he adopted lay the genius. He invited the stranger to lunch with him at a restaurant! The invitation was accepted with cheerful alacrity; a certain house of entertainment was proposed and decided upon, and thither the two gentlemen repaired. It will be unnecessary to follow them through their lunch; sufficient to note that the rubbishy quality of the claret provided for them led to a discussion upon wine. The stranger, whose name, it transpired, was Ginns, was loud in his praises of a certain Hermitage, a few dozens of which had been presented to him by a generous friend. Finally he ventured to suggest that they should adjourn to his "diggings," which were in the neighbourhood, and discuss a bottle. The Colonel had not been quite prepared for this. Firmly convinced as he was that Mr. Ginns was a dangerous and desperate character, and having regard also to the fact that he was a big powerful fellow, he saw peril in the step.

      But he refused to be daunted. Bah! What was a muscular parson to a man who had been through the Indian Mutiny — and come out of it without a scratch! He remembered, too, that the ivory-handled malacca he carried was in reality a sword-stick, although he was not certain whether it was in working order. He cordially accepted the invitation, mentally reserving to himself the right, in the event of the spring of the stick, upon secret trial during the walk, refusing to act, of suddenly remembering a prior engagement.

      The result was that, the spring proving quite satisfactory, the Colonel soon found himself seated in Mr. Ginns' "diggings," drinking a Hermitage very much out of character with its shabby surroundings.

      The conversation now took a more personal turn. The Colonel's object was to worm himself into his host's confidence. Confidence, he argued, begets confidence. To get at the black depths of Mr. Ginn's heart it was necessary for him to gradually represent himself as a kindred spirit. Convince Mr. Ginns that he — the Colonel — was as bad as himself, and something important might come to light — perhaps a damning confession — the result, in fine, of the freemasonry of crime. Having reasoned thus subtly the Colonel proceeded to put his ideas to the test. He began by giving a highly coloured sketch of his life, in which he broadly insinuated that he had never allowed any absurd ideas of principle to stand in the way. To his intense satisfaction Mr. Ginns responded with an outline of his own career, making exactly similar admissions. The further the conversation proceeded the blacker became the two gentlemen's characters. If certain circumstances could possibly come to light the Colonel could be transported for twenty years! Oh, that was nothing! Mr. Ginns would have been hanged long ago if he had gone to work as stupidly as some men. It was the bunglers and fools that the law got hold of, and it served them right. The Colonel declared that he was still game for anything that had money in it. Mr. Ginns was as game, if not gamer!

      All this was very good. The Colonel hugged himself with delight at the success of his diplomacy. But there was still much to accomplish before the £1000 was his. He was now perfectly convinced that his host was the incendiary.

      He must encourage him to admit the crime.

      "Singular affair that fire of Grantam's," he remarked with nonchalance.

      "Very!" replied Mr. Ginns, appearing to welcome the subject. The two gentlemen looked at each other for a moment and then winked simultaneously.

      "Some lucky devil was paid well for the job," said the Colonel. Then he added, thinking to bait his hook temptingly — "I made a couple of thousand a few years ago with a wax match."

      "Were you in this affair?" asked Ginns in a whisper.

      "No, were you?"

      "No."

      Again they looked at each other, but instead of winking they smiled.

      "Bless me, it's nearly eight!" exclaimed Mr. Ginns suddenly. "Suppose we stroll down West and dine."

      "Agreed!" cried the Colonel. He was full of delight, for he was now sure of his man and of his thousand pounds. Mr. Ginns had said "No," but his smile to the Colonel plainly said "Yes."

      It was now only a question of how to deliver him up to justice. Once arrested it would be for the police to work up the case, and ferret out the evidence. As they walked along arm-in-arm the Colonel was resolving these things in his mind. Suddenly his companion stopped, and, looking up to learn the cause, he saw that they were standing before a policeman.

      "I give this man into custody," said Mr. Ginns quietly, "on the charge of being concerned in the incendiary fire which occurred at Mr. Grantam's."

      For several moments the Colonel was too thunder-stricken to speak. The constable meanwhile looked from one gentleman to the other in great perplexity, evidently possessed of a vague impression that an attempt was being made to make a fool of him.

      "Scoundrel!" thundered the Colonel at last, shaking his stick with passion. "Infamous lying villain, how dare you! You have discovered my intention to deliver you to justice, and by this paltry manœuvre you think to escape. Your cloth, sir, which you have dragged in the mire, protects you from my violence."

      "Your years and apparent debility serve you the same turn," replied Mr. Ginns with admirable composure. "Constable, this is trifling — do your duty."

      As it was now evident that there was no joke about the matter, the policeman touched the excited Colonel upon the shoulder.

      "You'd better come along to the station, sir," he said.

      "I shall do nothing of the kind," shouted the Colonel. "There stands the incendiary. I charge him with the crime and bid you to arrest him."

      This was the most complicated case the policeman had ever encountered. Each gentleman gave the other in charge, and both expressed a disinclination to go to the station. After some little consideration he explained that if they wished to charge each other they must both accompany him, otherwise they had better go away home quietly.

      Rather than let Mr. Ginns escape and lose the reward the Colonel consented to go with the policeman. Mr. Ginns did the same, and the three then proceeded to the station. Here they were brought before the inspector on duty at the time; but the case appeared so absurd, and there seemed so little foundation for the charges, that he was about to advise them to "go home and sleep it off," when the conduct of the two gentlemen became so acrimonious and violent as to justify him in having them locked up in separate cells — a very simple and effective manner of solving the difficulty.

      In the morning at ten o'clock Colonel Pherrett and Mr. Ginns stood before the magistrate one of the shrewdest and most sensible in the metropolis. The former was haggard, and yellow as a guinea; he had evidently passed a bad night. The superior robustness of Mr. Ginns had carried him through the trying ordeal with less unpleasant results.

      They were charged in the first place with riotous behaviour at the police-station, for which trifling fines were imposed. The charge which they then brought against each other was listened to patiently by the magistrate, who, after asking one or two pointed and somewhat embarrassing questions delicately gave it as his opinion that they had been behaving like a couple of maniacs. He said that it was very clear to him how their difficulties and troubles had originated. Mr. Grantam's offer of £1000 reward had tempted them both to experiment in a profession in which they had not the slightest experience, and for which they had not the slightest natural aptitude. They had caught each other in the act of reading the poster with strange attention, and each, imagining that the other had divined his thoughts, had become confused. The only construction they could place upon each other's confusion was an evidence of guilt, and with the tempting £1000 dangling in their imaginations they had attempted to follow each other. Singular to say they had subsequently pursued the same well-worn old tactics — that of seeking to gain confidence by a display of confidence; the result being that they represented themselves as such horrible villains that very soon each was perfectly convinced that the other was the incendiary. The magistrate concluded by advising the gentlemen, if they desired to augment their incomes, to hazard some rôle of which they had more knowledge than the detecting of crime, and he was kind enough to add that, in consideration of their feelings, he would request that the case should not be reported in the papers.

      The Colonel stumped away from the Court, consumed with rage, humiliation, disappointment, and a ravenous hunger. He had not proceeded far before he was overtaken by Mr. Ginns.

      "I give you warning that I intend indicting you for conspiracy," said the latter, fiercely, walking at his side.

      "I am now on my way to my solicitor, for the same purpose," replied the Colonel promptly.

      "I shall pursue you to death, sir," said Mr. Ginns.

      "I shall pursue you to the devil, sir," replied the Colonel.

      For some minutes they walked along without speaking, and feeling very angry, and not conscious that deep down, right at the bottom of their hearts, they had taken a fancy to each other.

      "It will be interminable," Mr. Ginns at last remarked thoughtfully.

      "It will be expensive," sighed the Colonel.

      Again there was a silence, which this time was broken by the Colonel.

      "I must go somewhere and breakfast," he said, "perhaps — we might ——"

      "Breakfast together," cried Mr. Ginns, bursting into a laugh, and taking the Colonel's arm. "Of course. The very best thing we could do."

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THE PRIVATE INQUIRY.

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IT was not unnatural that Colonel Pherrett and Mr. Ginns should become fast friends. Misfortune, it is said, makes strange bedfellows. and the fiasco which these two gentlemen had experienced was the means of drawing them together. If two persons meet, and discover that they have both been sufferers from the same cause, the foundation of a friendship is immediately laid. Human nature has a passion for sympathy, and for the reason that human nature is inherently selfish, sympathy can only be found in fellow-sufferers.

      It must be acknowledged that the feelings which drew the Colonel and Mr. Ginns together in the bonds of friendship were not by any means free from the littleness and selfishness of human nature. It is much easier to bear misfortune in company than alone; so also with humiliation and ridicule. The Colonel was comforted with the thought that the ex-clergyman had shared to the full his own disappointment, discomfiture, and humiliation; Mr. Ginns found abundant consolation in a similar reflection.

      One day, about a week after the events to which their friendship owed its existence, Mr. Ginns lunched with the Colonel at his residence in the suburb of Nowork. The mania for living in "flats" had long since spread from the immediate West and South West to Nowork and the neighbouring suburbs, and it was this form of residence which the Colonel, being a bachelor, found most pleasant and convenient. Too old and experienced a traveller to venture either into boarding-houses, "with the comforts of home," or "furnished apartments," the Colonel elected, when he settled in Nowork, to have a house of his own, on however small a scale. His flat, although rather high up, included, besides the kitchen and servants' quarters, three commodious rooms which were furnished lightly but comfortably, and in a manner which betrayed the Anglo-Indian. His retinue consisted of a woman, who was at once cook, housekeeper, and housemaid, and a man-servant, who had been with the Colonel in India.

      Cold pigeon pie, the inevitable curry, and a cream cheese, washed down by Hungarian claret, was the lunch which the Colonel provided, and to which both host and guest did ample justice. The meal over, the Colonel sought his favourite easy chair and lit a cigar, while Mr. Ginns stretched himself upon a cane lounge and began rolling cigarettes. Both were for the time in that comfortable state when, the animal nature being satisfied, all care and anxiety are banished from the mind. Mr. Ginns, as he assisted digestion by inhaling from his cigarette volumes of smoke, which he returned to outer day through his broad nostrils, forgot that he was penniless; and the disagreeable facts that he had been living terribly beyond his income, and was deeply in debt, had been spirited away from Colonel Pherrett's brain by the curry and claret.

      These pleasant conditions, however, were as fleeting as all human enjoyment is inexorably ordained to be. Mr. Ginns had smoked but three cigarettes, and the Colonel was in the act of sticking the blade of his pen-knife into the stump of his cigar, so that he might smoke it to an economical conclusion without burning his fingers, when a knock was heard at the outer door, followed by the harsh and sceptical voice of a tradesman's collector and the smooth accents of the Colonel's man-servant, who gravely asserted that his master was not at home.

      After the collector had declared, in tones which were evidently intended to reach the remotest corner of the establishment, that, if the account was not settled on or before the following Saturday, county court proceedings would immediately ensue, the door was heard to close, and all was quiet.

      The Colonel looked at his companion and smiled, but the smile was feeble and saffron-hued. That which broadened Mr. Ginns's spacious face in reply was full of genuine humour. The dun was not his.

      "I sympathise, dear boy," he said, rolling a fresh cigarette.

      "Thank you," replied the Colonel, drily.

      "Yes," Mr. Ginns continued; "I sympathise with you. Not so much because you are being dunned — I think but little of that — but because, being of a serious and despondent disposition, you take it badly. You, who have heard the trumpet-call to battle without a quickening of the pulse, start at the sound of the collector's voice and tremble at the mention of the county court."

      The Colonel might have accepted part of this speech as highly complimentary, or, as Mr. Ginns had no means of knowing the state of his nerves on the eve of a battle, as flattery. But as he was not without suspicion that a secret vein of sarcasm lay beneath his friend's broad humour, he was afraid to accept too much in good faith.

      "You will never know true happiness," remarked Ginns, "until you have become as thoroughpaced a Bohemian as I am."

      "I was not made for it," replied the Colonel. "A true Bohemian, as I understand the term, should, like yourself, have no fixed and permanent abode, and no seizable property. He should be in a position to laugh at collectors, county courts, and bailiffs. But, at my time of life, I require something like home comforts. I shudder at the thought of boarding-houses or furnished apartments. I struggled hard on my wretched pension to establish this little home for myself, and to live as nearly as possible as a gentleman should live. But it's a failure. The money won't run to it. My tradesmen are hostile. My credit is gone, and, as you see, the county court stares me in the face, with a vision of a bailiff and a sale, and ruin beyond."

      "In fact," said Mr. Ginns, laconically, "the game's up!" It was wonderful, considering that he had been a clergyman, how slangy Mr. Ginns was.

      "I suppose they will make a bankrupt of me, and for several years the majority of my income will be devoted to paying my debts. That, I believe, is the usual course." And the Colonel looked around the cosy room with a regretful sigh.

      "You will feel better when it's all over," remarked Mr. Ginns, consolingly. "You will be happier, and you will live better. No one lives better than your ruined man, that is, provided he has brains, which ruined men generally have. Look at me, sir! I have been in a chronic state of ruin for some time."

      Mr. Ginn's clerical suit was somewhat rusty, but a nice regard for outward show was not included in his philosophy. He aimed at solid comforts, and the most casual glance would have convinced a stranger that he secured them. As he stood upright the luxurious circumference of his waist obscured from his vision his strong, serviceable boots. His clean-shaven, pink, and fleshy face was the very mirror of good living, and at the same time there was an air about him of strong health. His fat agreed with him as well as his food. His lean friend looked at him with unconscious admiration.

      "I don't know how you do it," he said.

"And why I'm so plump the reason I'll tell: Who leads a good life is sure to live well,"

      sang Mr. Ginns in a mighty bass voice. "Perhaps I don't know how I do it myself," he said, showing his broad, strong, teeth, "but disposition has a good deal to do with it. Humour is fattening. Again, the cheerful man is not so readily suspected of being hard up as the morose man; he therefore inspires more confidence — and is less dunned. Notwithstanding the shabbiness of my clothes, my credit is simply marvellous. The tradespeople — simple folk! — absolutely throw it to me. If I were rich enough to keep out of debt I should not be able to."

      "And you are never dunned?" asked the Colonel, incredulously.

      "Never unpleasantly. When a creditor becomes pressing I let him see at once that it's no go; and, as it is part of my principle never to run up bills beyond a certain limited amount which is not worth suing for, especially as there would be no ultimate prospect of getting it — I have no destrainable property — they accept the inevitable and let the matter drop."

      "But, as your credit must be constantly running out, that mode of living must entail very frequent changes of residence and neighbourhood," remarked the Colonel, reflectively.

      "Of course it does," replied Mr. Ginns, "and that is part of its charm. Believe me, it is the greatest mistake in the world to live too long in one place. Deeply implanted within me is the love of personal liberty, and the being tied to one given centre is utterly incompatible with my idea of liberty. My nature, sir, rebels against the bare suggestion of fetters, whether of gold or brass. Beyond that, the narrower the radius within which a man moves, the narrower do his feelings and sympathies become. Can you wonder that I was unable to remain in the Church?"

      The Colonel did not wonder that the Church was unable to retain Mr. Ginns within its embrace, but he did not say so.

      "I once submitted to fetters closer and stronger than those of the Church," continued Mr. Ginns, with a burst of confidence — the consequence of the pleasure of hearing his own voice, and of having a good listener — "fetters of gold, and ahem — brass. I burst them, sir — it required an effort — but I burst them. Four hundred a year might be mine now if I chose."

      "Then in your place I think I should choose," remarked the Colonel, abruptly. Then he fell back in his chair with a sigh which might have been the echo of some hidden chord within, which the conversation had awakened.

      "I made a sacrifice of material benefit on the altar of personal liberty," replied Mr. Ginns, pompously, as he reseated himself with the air of a hero.

      There was a silence of some minutes. Colonel Pherrett was deeply pondering upon what he had heard.

      "But you want money, don't you?" he asked at last.

      "Of course I do," was the reply; "I would like to be introduced to a man who does not. The want of money is a complaint chronic to all humanity. It differs in degree, of course. You and I are, at present, extreme cases."

      "Can you suggest a salutary mode of treatment?" asked the Colonel with a weak smile.

      "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Ginns. "That is what I have been expecting and waiting for. Good! You think that we should work together. So do I. I am brimful of ideas. If I had only the energy to put them into practice I should have made a fortune long ago. Unfortunately I have neither taste nor talent for detail. That has always been my drawback. I was born to lead — not to follow; to give the order — not to execute it. Let me see now. What sort of a swindle would you like to go in for?"

      "Swindle!" echoed the Colonel, with a burst of virtuous indignation. "You sadly mistake me, sir. I propose to embark in no enterprise which could possibly endanger my reputation as an officer and a gentleman."

      "Nor could I, as a clergyman and a gentleman, suggest such an enterprise," responded Mr. Ginns calmly. "I used the word swindle in its slang sense. Let us return to the point. You asked me to propose a swin — a project for making some money. I have one."

      This was said with the knowing look of a man who has the "straight tip" — a "perfect moral" — for the next "Derby." The Colonel was much impressed. The suggestion of some thing particularly good in his friend's voice and manner whetted his imagination. "What is it?" he asked in an expectant whisper.

      Mr. Ginns, who with solemn deliberation, drew a chair opposite to his host, sat down, folded his arms tightly across his broad chest, and said, slowly and impressively:

      "A Private Inquiry Office!"

      Then he pressed his thick lips very close together, drawing his mouth out to its full length, which was considerable — a facial expression which, being interpreted, meant that in those four words he had delivered himself of a stupendous idea.

      The Colonel's face fell almost painfully. His disappointment was too keen to admit of speech for some moments, but eventually his lips formed the word "Pooh!"

      Mr. Ginns, was watching him keenly, saw the effect, and hastened to enter into an elaborate and eloquent defence of his scheme

      It would be superfluous, and perhaps wearisome, to follow Mr. Ginns in all his argument; suffice it to record that he eventually succeeded in persuading his friend that no part of London offered so much inducement for the establishment of a private inquiry office as Nowork. The majority of the people in the neighbourhood were idlers, and Mr. Ginns — no doubt speaking with the authority of a long experience — expressed his belief in the old adage which refers to idle hands and their great employer. Further, it was to be remarked that the fair and weaker sex were in a large majority in Nowork — a fact patent to the most unobserving after half an hour's promenade in Nowork Grove at any time of the day; and this was a still stronger argument in favour of the inference that mischief was very rife in that suburb, and therefore that a private inquiry office would flourish.

      "Pherrett and Ginns on a brass plate will look very well," remarked Mr. Ginns, rubbing his hands together.

      "Never!" exclaimed the Colonel, violently. "I would die of hunger rather than have my name appear. Anything but that. The Pherretts were Pherretts before William the Bastard was dreamed of."

      "I don't doubt it for a moment," replied the ex-clergyman, "and I perfectly understand your feelings. The Ginns, too, were Ginns about the same time, if I remember aright. But let it pass. Your name shall not appear, although it would be peculiarly appropriate in connection with the line of business contemplated. Ha, ha! Forgive my little joke. For my part, I don't share your scruples — perhaps because I look upon private inquiry as a most respectable, and in some of its aspects as a noble profession. The firm sir, shall do business under the name and style of 'Ginns and Co.'"

      The remainder of the afternoon was spent in making necessary preliminary arrangements. A little money was required for advertising and for furnishing the offices. The Colonel thought that by making a desperate effort he could raise ten pounds. Mr. Ginns thought that a similar effort on his part might be fruitful of an equal amount. The result of these exertions was that at the end of a week the Colonel was able to contribute seven pounds, and Mr. Ginns six pounds five shillings. This was a very small capital, but with the aid of Mr. Ginns's wonderful command of credit it was made to suffice. Two rooms over a shop were taken and suitably furnished, and among the advertisements in the agony columns of the morning papers the following began to appear:

      "Private Inquiry. — Missing friends found; suspected persons watched; divorce proceedings conducted; and all cases requiring to be investigated with secrecy, delicacy, and despatch, may safely be entrusted to Ginns and Co., 22 Nowork Grove, W. Consultation free."

      On the morning on which the office first opened for the transaction of business, Colonel Pherrett rose at, for him, the unearthly hour of nine, made a somewhat poor breakfast, and then wended his way to the Grove. Outside No. 22 he paused with the embarrassed and fugitive air of the man who is about for the first time to enter the establishment of a pawnbroker. The name, "Ginns and Co.," was conspicuous on the door, and as he looked at it the Colonel felt convinced that the whole world would for "Co.," read "Pherrett." By an effort of courage, however, worthy of his great profession, the Colonel entered the door and went up-stairs. In the office he found his partner awaiting him.

      "Welcome!" cried Mr. Ginns, seizing his hand affectionately. "I was half afraid that you would funk at the last moment and not turn up. However, here you are, in the scene of our future mutual labours."

      The Colonel looked round the room, sighed, and sunk into a chair.

      "I hope it won't be long before some business turns up," he said thinking of the file of unpaid bills at home.

      "My dear fellow, of course it won't be long," replied Mr. Ginns, cheerfully. "Everything comes to the man who can wait." (The Colonel grunted sceptically.) "Pherrett, in forming your disposition nature has, in one respect, been niggardly. You have no enthusiasm. I believe that it is to the absence of that invaluable quality that you owe your present embarrassments."

      The Colonel might pertinently have asked what Mr. Ginns' enthusiasm had hitherto done for him; but having learned by experience that he was no match for his partner in argument, he deemed it prudent to remain silent.

      "Yes," pursued Mr. Ginns, "it is a sad defect; but we will endeavour to repair it. I have come this morning provided with a shilling's-worth of brandy and two bottles of soda. Here, in this room, in which will be whispered many a queer secret, many a singular domestic complication, and many a dark family history, we will now drink to the prosperity and success of the firm of Ginns and Co."

      "To the prosperity and success of the firm of Ginns and Co.," repeated the Colonel, solemnly raising his glass and drinking.

      "And now," said Mr. Ginns, putting away the glasses, "let us get to business."

      "We must wait until the business gets to us," remarked his partner, with a laugh, which proved that the B. and S. had dispelled some of his despondency.

      "Not at all," replied Ginns, bustling about. "There are these books to get into readiness, all the morning papers to glance through, and a host of things to attend to."

      The two gentlemen set to work and busily employed themselves doing nothing or what practically amounted to nothing — for a couple of hours. At the end of that time the Colonel chanced to catch Mr. Ginns' eye; but he immediately looked away, and contemplated the ceiling thoughtfully.

      "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Ginns.

      "I did not speak," asserted the Colonel hastily.

      "Oh!"

      "But now you recall me, I — er — dear, dear, we have no clock here, and my watch is, hem! — under repair. I heard twelve strike some time since. Perhaps ——"

      "Yes, I think so, too," said the Colonel, with an air of conviction. "A short turn before luncheon is necessary to health."

      "Of course," replied Mr. Ginns, putting on his hat. "Besides, all work and no play — you know, ha, ha!"

      They walked gently for three parts of an hour, and then retired into a restaurant for lunch. At two o'clock they solemnly returned to the office, and the work which had occupied them in the morning. Their labours did not suffer from harassing interruption; their attention was not distracted either by callers or letters. When the neighbouring church clock struck four, the Colonel's eyes sought those of his partner, less furtively than in the morning, but with a similar result. It was decided that an hour or two's indulgence in tobacco and conversation in the public gardens close by would be productive of benefit both mental and physical.

      "A continuity of labour deadens the soul," quoth Mr. Ginns, who was always prepared with a wise saw, either classical or otherwise, with which to justify his actions. Then he locked up the office for the day, and pocketed the keys.

      At six the firm, having found an appetite in the gardens, dined at the Colonel's rooms, and at eight the firm was seated in the circle of a West-end theatre. It may be mentioned en passant that the firm was a deadhead, Mr. Ginns having a singular knack of getting "orders."

      A fortnight passed. The Colonel and Mr. Ginns appeared at the office every morning with scrupulous punctuality. In chatting, reading the newspapers, and smoking, the time passed agreeably — but unprofitably. No clients appeared, and no letters were left, excepting the two or three which Mr. Ginns himself wrote to the firm daily, for the sake, as he said, of keeping up appearances. "The next best thing," he declared, "to being clever was to be thought clever; and the next best thing to doing business, was for people to think you were doing business."

      One morning it was decided after a lengthy consultation that a few hundred handbills, advertising the firm, should be printed and distributed. Accordingly Mr. Ginns went off to Grantam's to give the necessary order, leaving the Colonel in charge of the office. The senior partner had been gone about five minutes, when there came a heavy rap at the door. Such a startling and unforeseen occurrence had the effect of utterly demoralising the Colonel for the moment.

      "Good Heavens!" he thought; "what can it be. A client perhaps; and that clever humbug — I mean my partner is away. What's to be done?" Recovering himself upon hearing a second rap, he opened the door.

      "Is this the private inquiry office?"

      "Yes," faltered the Colonel; "will you walk in, please?"

      Ginns and Co.'s first client walked in, and took the seat the Colonel offered him. He was a large man about forty, with fairly regular features, very light hair — eyebrows and lashes almost colourless — pale blue eyes, and a singularly guileless expression. He looked in good circumstances, and he might have been a gentleman. On the last point the Colonel was unable to decide upon first sight. There are plenty of men who would pass for gentlemen if they never opened their mouths. The Colonel was obliged to defer judgment until the conversation began.

      There was an awkward pause. The Colonel fervently wished that his partner would return. He did not know how to address this provincial-looking visitor, who did not look as if he had either a "queer secret," a "singular domestic complication," or a "dark family history" to confide. Should he say, "To what am I indebted for this visit?" or "What can I do for you, sir?" The former savoured too much of the drawing-room, and the latter of the shop. He was seeking for a happy medium, when his visitor relieved his embarrassment.

      "My name," he said, "is Sellars, and I have called to seek your advice and assistance in a delicate matter."

      The Colonel bowed, and sat down.

      "The fact is, sir," continued Mr. Sellars, drawing his chair closer, and speaking in a confidential tone, "I wish to get married."

      The Colonel mumbled that the wish was most natural.

      "Yes; I wish to get married. You may perhaps feel inclined to refer me to a matrimonial agency, but it is unnecessary. I have already chosen a wife, and have been favourably received."

      Mr. Sellars paused, and looked innocently at the Colonel, as if the announcement he had made called for congratulations.

      "It seems to me, Mr. Sellars," said the Colonel, smiling, "that you have mistaken this for a registry office?"

      "Indeed I have not."

      "Then I must beg you to explain. You say you have chosen a wife, and ——"

      "That is the point, sir," interrupted Mr. Sellars. "I have chosen a wife," and he looked down at the table modestly. "Had I chosen a widow or a spinster you would probably never have seen me. My choice having unfortunately fallen on a wife — I am here."

      The Colonel was inexpressibly surprised. He began to realise that private inquiry was a most interesting and exciting profession.

      "Then am I to understand ——" he began slowly, and then paused for further explanation.

      "You may understand Mr. Ginns ——"

      "Excuse me," interrupted the Colonel, hastily, "I am not Mr. Ginns. My name is ——" Then he stopped abruptly and blushed. "I mean that I am the 'Co.'"

      "Well, sir," resumed Mr. Sellars, "you may understand that there exists a just cause and impediment between me and the lady of my choice in the form of an existing husband. That impediment must be removed."

      The last words were ominous, but as the speaker's expression and manner were mild and childlike, the Colonel placed a peaceful instead of a murderous construction upon them.

      "In fact," said the latter, after a thoughtful pause, "you seek our advice and assistance on behalf of the lady, who wishes a divorce."

      "Exactly. This husband must be found and watched. He is living as far as we know, in London. Desertion can be proved against him. The rest must be supplied through you. I am prepared to offer you five hundred pounds, in addition to the expenses, if the case be successful."

      "Five hundred pounds!" thought the Colonel. "Ginns was right after all. There's fortune in the business."

      "You had now better tell me the particulars," he said.

      "Very well," replied Mr. Sellars. "This is the story. The lady was a widow, with a small property of her own. She had plenty of admirers, and was what is known as a lively widow. She was, and is, high-spirited, vivacious, and fond of society. Among her admirers was a man many years her senior — a retired officer. I have never seen him, or even his portrait, but from all accounts he was an unpleasant character." The Colonel was changing colour, and fidgetting in his chair, but the simple provincial did not remark it "Well, singular to say — I have never been able to understand it myself — this old fellow was successful in his suit. Upon a more intimate acquaintance his character did not improve. The marriage was not a happy one. The lady was then attached to her husband — but he wore out her affections by his cranky and suspicious behaviour. As I have told you, she was fond of society, but this fellow, was a selfish egotist, and terribly jealous. He led her a miserable life for three years, and a climax was reached, when, one night at a country ball, she waltzed three times with a handsome fellow several years younger than her husband. Well, he left her — after the usual scene — and I believe, came up to town. That is more than a year since, and she has not heard from him. His unkindness and his desertion have, I believe, and fondly hope, entirely worn out the feelings she once cherished for him. She wishes to be free."

      The Colonel was sitting back in his chair, his eyes fixed, and his complexion the palest of possible yellow hues. But still this honest simpleton did not remark it.

      "You see," continued he, "this fellow, having first bullied his wife and then deserted her, must be an unmitigated cad."

      "What!" cried the Colonel, hoarsely, as he rose from his chair with threatening mien.

      "A cad," replied Mr. Sellars, not perceiving his danger. "There can be no doubt of it. A man who leaves his wife unprotected, and who takes no trouble to ascertain what becomes of her, can be nothing else."

      The Colonel clenched his hands and made a step towards his visitor; then, restraining himself by violent effort, he retreated into the next room to acquire a little calmness.

      When he returned he said, politely and composedly.

      "Would you mind calling again at three, Mr. Sellars? You will then see my partner, and in the meantime I will consult him!"

      "Do you think that you can undertake the matter?"

      "I think we can."

      When the Colonel was alone he fell into a chair, buried his face in his hands and groaned. It was so that his partner found him when he returned.

      "My dear Pherrett, what is the matter?"

      "We have a client."

      "A client! Hurrah! But why this dejection?"

      "We are to work up a divorce case," pursued the Colonel, grimly.

      "Good! Lucrative! Divorce cases always are."

      "We are to receive, on the event of the case being successful, five hundred pounds, over and above expenses."

      "Five hundred pounds!" cried Mr. Ginns; "oh, that's crumby."

      "The applicant is a handsome and accomplished lady, Christian name Laura, residing on her own property near Maidstone. She can prove desertion; we must work up the rest."

      "Oh, of course. No doubt he's a debauched scoundrel," said Ginns, with an air of conviction.

      "And I am the respondent!"

      Mr. Ginns was thunder-stricken, from which state he passed to incredulity; but the Colonel told his story, which was substantially the same as that related by Mr. Sellars.

      "And so the separation was the result of your interference with your wife's liberty," remarked Mr. Ginns. "How very singular. My wife tried to compromise my liberty, with a similar result. There, the murder is out now. I married a woman with four hundred a year. She tried to shackle me too heavily, and I escaped by flight."

      "What's to be done?" asked the Colonel, dolefully.

      "Leave it to me," replied his partner. "I'll pull you through. In the first place let it be granted that private feeling must not be permitted to interfere with business. Very well, then. We must earn this five hundred pounds. We must get the divorce."

      "Never!" cried the Colonel.

      "I say leave it to me," persisted Mr. Ginns. "You don't appear in the matter at all. I will work up the case against you. The respondent will not appear to defend the case. Rule nisi with costs. It will be privately agreed beforehand that the lady will pay her own costs. Good! That is the history of half the divorce cases annually. The five hundred pounds will be paid to me — we share that; you will be free, your wife will be free, and everybody, including Mr. Sellars, will be happy."

      "But I don't want to be free," exclaimed the Colonel with petulance.

      Mr. Ginns stared at his partner, as though he were contemplating a madman.

      "You don't want to be free!" he repeated.

      "No!"

      "Then, sir, perhaps you'll tell me what the devil you do want?"

      "I don't know, myself," replied the Colonel. "But I know what I don't want. I don't want to be divorced from Laura, my wife. I don't want that idiot Sellars to have her."

      "It is scarcely generous for you to cast reflections upon the intellectual calibre of your rival," said Ginns, in a bantering tone, which was out of place and not calculated to soothe his partner's feelings. "You seem to be actuated with the perversity which possessed the dog in the manger."

      "Damn the dog in the manger," thundered the Colonel.

      "Certainly, if you wish it," replied Mr. Ginns, with twinkling eyes. "Dog! consider yourself condemned."

      Then, perceiving by the Colonel's twitching face that the joke had gone far enough, he added, in an altered tone, "Pherrett, you know I want to help you, but you are so hasty. Now tell me what course you would like pursued."

      "First of all I should like to hear as much as possible about my wife," answered the Colonel, somewhat mollified. "Forgive my irritability, Ginns, but this affair has upset me. I love my wife after all; and perhaps I was too suspicious and hasty, and misjudged her. I have often thought of seeking her, and telling her so, but have not had the — the ——

      "The moral courage," suggested Mr. Ginns.

      "Yes, the moral courage if you like. It is too late now. Her affection is worn out. Will you, for me, question this fellow about her when he returns?"

      At three o'clock Mr. Sellars returned, according to promise, and in the Colonel's presence was subjected by Mr. Ginns to a gentle and courteous, but searching cross-examination.

      Bless you! Mr. Sellars was to Mr. Ginns what the clay is to the potter. With many a secret wink and self-congratulatory grimace at his partner, the reverend private detective turned his guileless client inside out. Mr. Sellars, with a frankness and innocence but too rarely met with, readily answered every question his interlocutor put to him, and in a very few minutes the partners were in possession of the following information. Mrs. Pherrett, since her husband's departure, had not left her house. She did not go into "society," nor did she receive visitors. She had but one friend and companion, a lady some years her senior, who had come to live in the neighbourhood three or four months since. The two were now inseparable. It was through that lady friend that Mr. Sellars had had the happiness of meeting Mrs. Pherrett. It was a plain unvarnished story, and it obtained the credence it deserved. Upon its conclusion, the two partners, after apologising to their client, returned into the other room to consult.

      "Ginns," whispered the Colonel, without giving his friend time to begin, "my wife must by some means or other be brought here. I don't know what will happen, but I must see her — or at least hear her voice. You must manage it — you must interview her. I will be in here. Stay —" as Mr. Ginns was about to interrupt — "You said just now that business must not be upset by private feelings. It shall not be. I give you my word of honour that whatever eventuates, the five hundred pounds shall be paid into the firm."

      "Pherrett," replied Mr. Ginns, reproachfully, "you do me a very great injustice. You have made a false estimate of my character. You shall have your wife back, if my wits and exertions can accomplish it, but I'd rather turn a barrel-organ in the streets than receive a farthing in payment."

      The partners pressed hands, with a mutual respect they had never before felt; they then returned to the other room.

      "We will undertake this business for you, Mr. Sellars," replied Ginns, "and you can rely upon our bringing it to a successful conclusion. It will be necessary for us in the first place to see Mrs. Pherrett, and the sooner the better."

      "That is easily managed!" said Mr. Sellars, with ingenuous eagerness. "I expect Mrs. Pherrett and her friend to arrive in town to-night."

      "Then will you kindly request her to call here at her earliest convenience if possible, at twelve to-morrow? And, one moment," as Mr. Sellars was retiring. "Mrs. Pherrett had better come alone. The very greatest discretion must be exercised in these matters, and, pardon me, the less conspicuous you are the better for yourself and for all concerned. I need hardly remind a gentleman of your evident keenness and experience," this with gentle and pitying irony, "of the existence of an inquisitive official known as the Queen's Proctor."

      Mr. Sellars artlessly and gratefully expressed his indebtedness for this kindly hint and took his departure. The next day at noon the two partners sat in the office awaiting Fate's decree. Mr. Ginns' habitual calm self-reliance had not deserted him; but the Colonel's restlessness was so painfully apparent as to cause his partner — whose occasional indulgence in vulgar simile we deplore, but must not attempt to conceal — to compare him to a flea in a blanket.

      When at last a knock was heard at the door the Colonel started as if he had been shot.

      "'Tis she," he whispered, trembling; "I know her knock. Speak kindly to her, Ginns, and and talk about me." Then he hurried unsteadily into the next room, and closed the door, without latching it.

      Mr. Ginns opened the outer door, and with his best manner invited the lady who stood without to step inside. His quick eye took in her appearance at a glance. She was about the medium height, with a shapely figure, inclined to embonpoint. She wore a thick veil, but beneath it Mr. Ginns could see sufficient to determine him that she was dark and handsome; and he judged her, not erroneously, to be on the verge of forty. She was most becomingly attired, and the large steadfast eyes which shone through the veil told Mr. Ginns that her nerves and intelligence were equal to the occasion.

      "I think I may infer that I have the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Pherrett," said Ginns, suavely, as he placed the easiest chair in the room for his visitor.

      "That is my name," said Mrs. Pherrett, seating herself.

      Mr. Ginns could not help smiling at the thought of how agitated his partner in the adjoining room would be upon hearing that pleasant, confident, contralto voice.

      "I have called at the request Mr. Sellars conveyed to me from you," continued Mrs. Pherrett. "He has told you, I understand, that I wish to enter divorce proceedings against my husband."

      "Exactly," said Mr. Ginns, "and you have done me the favour of placing the case in my hands. Believe me your confidence has not been misplaced."

      The lady bowed.

      "Now, madame," pursued Mr. Ginns seriously, "I deem it my duty, before going further, and as an absolutely necessary and proper preliminary to the proceedings contemplated, to point out to you the serious character of the issue at stake. If the binding together of two people for life is a weighty matter, the severance of that bond is weightier still. If the first requires serious and earnest consideration, the last demands consideration still more serious and earnest. You will not, I am sure, question my motives in venturing these remarks; they cannot be selfish or interested, as in the event of your deciding not to institute these proceedings I shall be the loser."

      "I am very much obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Pherrett, demurely; "pray proceed."

      "Your husband left you, I understand," pursued Mr. Ginns, thus encouraged, "about a year ago."

      "Fifteen months since."

      "Thank you. In consequence of a serious disagreement you had."

      "He doubted me," said Mrs. Pherrett, with flashing eyes; "he mistook natural vivacity for a fickle affection, a love of pleasure for a depraved heart. I could not bear that — there was a dreadful scene — and he left me."

      "And in his absence his image has faded out of your heart," Mr. Ginns remarked, poetically.

      "I am not altogether prepared to say that," faltered Mrs. Pherrett, taking her handkerchief from her muff. "I am only a woman, and would not answer for myself if I saw him again, and he pleaded with me, and swore never to doubt me again. But I shall never see him again; he has not even written to me since he left, and — and what can I do but seek for a divorce?"

      "Oh, Laura, darling, forgive me," cried the poor old Colonel, bursting into the room and falling on his knees before her. "I do plead with you, and I do swear on my honour never to doubt you again."

      It was singular how composed Mrs. Pherrett was under this startling denouement. She did not scream nor faint, or give way to any of the weaknesses peculiar to her sex under circumstances of the kind, but she simply raised her veil with little plump hands, which trembled slightly, and kissed her husband's upraised face. Something like a great sparkling dewdrop fell at the same moment upon his forehead.

      Mr. Ginns meanwhile attentively studied a newspaper several days old, and softly rubbed his hands. " And now, George dear," said Mrs. Pherrett, " we will defer explanations, or better still, we will dispense with them altogether. I have been forgetting my friends all this time," she added, with roguishness beaming through the warmth of her eyes. "I left them in the passage below." Then she went to the door and clapped her hands.

      "Pherrett, old boy," said Mr. Ginns, in his usual large way, "you have my hearty congratulations. You return to your fetters, but," with a deep bow to Mrs. Pherrett, "they are of gold and precious jewels. You should never have left them. With me it is different. To me, Mrs. Pherrett, liberty means life. Who would be so cruel as to deprive me of my liberty?"

      "I would, Mr. Ginns!"

      It was the voice of a little lady, wiry, middle-aged, and determined, who stood at the door armed with an umbrella. Behind her appeared Mr. Sellars, forming an admirable background to the picture. Mr. Ginns staggered, and turned purple, but deliberately and relentlessly the little figure advanced upon him and took his arm. "I would be so cruel, Mr. Ginns," she repeated; "cruel to be kind. Too much liberty is not good for you. You have proved that conclusively. Now you must come home and be taken care of."

      Gradually Mr. Ginns' face resumed its natural colour. A faint smile then spread over his features, and slowly broadened into its usual dimensions. Finally, he pressed his wife's hand between his arm and his side, and murmured, "I yield."

      "Need that gentleman remain?" asked the Colonel of his wife, in an audible aside, and feeling the last twinge of jealousy that ever visited him.

      "He has not been paid yet," replied Mrs. Pherrett, with a mischievous laugh; "and Mrs. Ginns and I owe him a great deal."

      "How so?" asked the Colonel, anxiously.

      "He found our husbands for us." Then she added, "Gentlemen, this is Mr. Phindem, the celebrated private detective."