pend the night with her, she went in search of him.

II

But while she dallied, Tragedy was stalking in the Wynrod gardens, where
only Comedy was meant to play.

Good, after those restless efforts to behave as a gentleman should
behave, which Judith had noted, had betaken himself with his musings to
the peaceful solitude of the garden. What was a commonplace to the
others still bore a singular charm for him. He was content to smoke and
dream and watch the shadows at their endless dance. He was vaguely
tired, and it was very quiet.

But his peace was short. The sound of whispering voices came to him
through the trees. At first he thought it only the rustling of the
leaves. Then the sudden, strangled cry of a woman brought him to his
feet, his heart pounding. For a moment he stood listening, every muscle
in a tremble. The voices could be heard more clearly now, and they
seemed to come from a small summer-house just behind him. He moved
slowly toward it.

"I think we'll end this right here." He recognised the voice as Baker's,
though unbelievably changed. The words seemed to come through clenched
teeth. Another voice--a man's--made some reply, but the chatter of the
crickets and the plashing of a fountain prevented him from catching what
it was. He relaxed and was about to turn around, when that same agonised
choking call smote his ears again. He hesitated no longer.

As he plunged into the little building a branch swayed in the breeze and
the moonlight broke through. It revealed two men facing each other. One
was Baker. His fist was raised and clenched. The other he could not
place for a moment. Then it flashed upon him. He had seen him once
before. It was Faxon.

"Now then--" Good's lean wrist shot forward. "Wait a bit." Baker
struggled momentarily but futilely. Good was a powerful man when he
chose to exert himself.

"Fine business, this," said Good as coolly as if he were inspecting a
company on dress parade. "What's the excitement?" As he spoke he was
conscious that there was a third person in the shelter, beside the two
men--a woman. Then a gleam of light entered momentarily and he realised
that it was Baker's wife. With a low whistle he turned to Faxon.

"I guess you'd better scoot," he said calmly, more as an order than as a
suggestion. With a not very successful effort at nonchalance Faxon
shrugged his shoulders and went out. As he passed Baker the latter moved
convulsively, but Good's hand tightened