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censor could have found nothing to cavil at in the movements of such

of the house-party as were in sight. Some were playing tennis, some

clock-golf, and others were smoking.

"Why, no," he admitted.

"Of course. Absurd--quite absurd!"

"But the servants. We have engaged a number of new servants lately."

"With excellent recommendations."

Sir Thomas was on the point of suggesting that the recommendations

might be forged, but his courage failed him. Julia was sometimes so

abrupt in these little discussions! She did not enter into his point

of view. He was always a trifle inclined to treat the castle as a

branch of Blunt's Stores. As proprietor of the stores, he had made a

point of suspecting everybody, and the results had been excellent.

In Blunt's Stores, you could hardly move in any direction without

bumping into a gentlemanly detective, efficiently disguised. For the

life of him, Sir Thomas could not see why the same principle should

not obtain at Dreever. Guests at a country house do not as a rule

steal their host's possessions, but then it is only an occasional

customer at a store who goes in for shop-lifting. It was the

principle of the thing, he thought: Be prepared against every

emergency. With Sir Thomas Blunt, suspiciousness was almost a mania.

He was forced to admit that the chances were against any of his

guests exhibiting larcenous tendencies, but, as for the servants, he

thoroughly mistrusted them all, except Saunders, the butler. It had

seemed to him the merest prudence that a detective from a private

inquiry agency should be installed at the castle while the house was

full. Somewhat rashly, he had mentioned this to his wife, and Lady

Julia's critique of the scheme had been terse and unflattering.

"I suppose," said Lady Julia sarcastically, "you will jump to the

conclusion that this man whom Spennie is bringing down with him to-

day is a criminal of some sort?"

"Eh? Is Spennie bringing a friend?"

There was not a great deal of enthusiasm in Sir Thomas's voice. His

nephew was not a young man whom he respected very highly. Spennie

regarded his uncle with nervous apprehension, as one who would deal

with his short-comings with vigor and severity. Sir Thomas, for his

part, looked on Spennie as a youth who would get into mischief

unless under his uncle's eye.

"I had a telegram from him just now," Lady Julia explained.

"Who is his friend?"

"He doesn't say. He just says he's a man he met in London."

"H'm!"

"And what does, 'H'm!' mean?" demanded Lady Julia.

"A man can pick up strange people in London," said Sir Thomas,

judicially.

"Nonsense!"

"Just as you say, my dear."

Lady Julia rose.

"As for what you suggest about the detective, it is of course

absolutely absurd."

"Quite so, my dear."

"You mustn't think of it."

"Just as you say, my dear."

Lady Julia left the room.

What followed may afford some slight clue to the secret of Sir

Thomas Blunt's rise in the world. It certainly suggests singleness

of purpose, which is one of the essentials of success.

No sooner had the door closed behind Lady Julia than he went to his

writing-table, took pen and paper, and wrote the following letter:

To the Manager, Wragge's Detective Agency. Holborn Bars, London E.

C.

SIR: With reference to my last of the 28th, ult., I should be glad

if you would send down immediately one of your best men. Am making

arrangements to receive him. Kindly instruct him to present himself

at Dreever Castle as applicant for position of valet to myself. I

will see and engage him on his arrival, and further instruct him in

his duties.

Yours faithfully,

THOS. BLUNT.

P. S. I shall expect him to-morrow evening. There is a good train

leaving Paddington at 2:15.

Sir Thomas read this over, put in a comma, then placed it in an

envelope, and lighted a cigar with the air of one who can be

checked, yes, but vanquished, never.

CHAPTER IX

FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD

On the night of the day on which Sir Thomas Blunt wrote and

dispatched his letter to Wragge's Detective Agency, Jimmy Pitt

chanced to stop at the Savoy.

If you have the money and the clothes, and do not object to being

turned out into the night just as you are beginning to enjoy

yourself, there are few things pleasanter than supper at the Savoy

Hotel, London. But, as Jimmy sat there, eying the multitude through

the smoke of his cigarette, he felt, despite all the brightness and

glitter, that this was a flat world, and that he was very much alone

in it.

A little over a year had passed since the merry evening at Police-

Captain McEachern's. During that time, he had covered a good deal of

new ground. His restlessness had reasserted itself. Somebody had

mentioned Morocco in his hearing, and a fortnight later he was in

Fez.

Of the principals in that night's drama, he had seen nothing more.

It was only when, after walking home on air, rejoicing over the

strange chance that had led to his finding and having speech with

the lady of the Lusitania, he had reached Fifty-Ninth Street, that

he realized how he had also lost her. It suddenly came home to him

that not only did he not know her address, but he was ignorant of

her name. Spike had called the man with the revolver "boss"

throughout--only that and nothing more. Except that he was a police-

captain, Jimmy knew as little about the man as he had before their

meeting. And Spike, who held the key to the mystery, had vanished.

His acquaintances of that night had passed out of his life like

figures in a waking dream. As far as the big man with the pistol was

concerned, this did not distress him. He had known that massive

person only for about a quarter of an hour, but to his thinking that

was ample. Spike he would have liked to meet again, but he bore the

separation with much fortitude. There remained the girl of the ship;

and she had haunted him with unfailing persistence during every one

of the three hundred and eighty-four days that had passed since

their meeting.

It was the thought of her that had made New York seem cramped. For

weeks, Jimmy had patrolled the likely streets, the Park, and

Riverside Drive, in the hope of meeting her. He had gone to the

theaters and restaurants, but with no success. Sometimes, he had

wandered through the Bowery, on the chance of meeting Spike. He had

seen red heads in profusion, but never again that of his young

disciple in the art of burglary. In the end, he had wearied of the

other friends of the Strollers, had gone out again on his

wanderings. He was greatly missed, especially by that large section

of his circle which was in a perpetual state of wanting a little to

see it through till Saturday. For years, Jimmy had been to these

unfortunates a human bank on which they could draw at will. It

offended them that one of those rare natures which are always good

for two dollars at any hour of the day should be allowed to waste

itself on places like Morocco and Spain--especially Morocco, where,

by all accounts, there were brigands with almost a New York sense of

touch.

They argued earnestly with Jimmy. They spoke of Raisuli and Kaid

MacLean. But Jimmy was not to be stopped. The gad-fly was vexing

him, and he had to move.

For a year, he had wandered, realizing every day the truth of

Horace's philosophy for those who travel, that a man cannot change

his feelings with his climate, until finally he had found himself,