his
literary child.

'I say, Selwyn,' he said, 'you come along too if you're through
pecking. Nothing like having the opinion of an expert, even if he is
jealous.'

With a promise to return immediately and read the effort aloud, the two
men left the table and adjourned to the adjoining room. With a frown
of impatience Selwyn was about to demand the reason for his inclusion
in the silly affair, when the other stopped him with a gesture and
closed the door.

'Quick!' he said. 'Grab that knife--here's the _Sketch_. Look through
it for anything about Dick Durwent.'

Seeing that the other was serious, Selwyn spread the paper before him
and hurriedly searched its columns.

'Great Scott!' he cried. 'Here it'----

'Sh-sh! Hurry up and cut it out. Right. I'll fix up the _Mirror_ in
the same way. Now skim through the _Mail_. Got it? By Jove! damn
near a whole column. Here'--Maynard ran the knife down the side of the
column. 'Now then, old Fensome has promised to get the thing out of
the _Post_, and to tell Lord Durwent before he goes to town. But he
mustn't hear of it this way, and those women are not to know a word
about it while they're in the house.'

Selwyn nodded and looked at the ragged clippings in his hand:

'ATTEMPTED MURDER IN WEST END.'
'WELL-KNOWN NOBLEMAN ATTACKED BY PEER'S SON.'
'QUARREL OVER DEMI-MONDAINE.'

'Gad, those are juicy lines, aren't they?' said Maynard. 'Won't some
of our worthy citizens lick their chops over them, and point to the
depravity of the upper classes? Do you know Dick Durwent?'

'I have seen him a couple of times.'

'Awfully decent chap. Screw loose, you know, and punishes his Scotch
no end, but a topping fellow underneath. I don't know who the bit of
fluff is that they're fighting about, but you can wager a quid to a bob
that Dick thought he was doing her a good turn.'

'I wonder who the nobleman is.'

'Can't say, I'm sure. Probably he can't either just now, seeing what
Durwent did to him. Of course, it's a rotten thing to say, but if the
blighter's really going to die, I hope he's one of the seventeen who
stand between me and the Earldom of Forth.'

There was a knock at the door, and an inquiry regarding the newly
discovered author.

'Coming,' called Maynard, reaching for the _Daily Mail_. 'Shove those
clippings in your pocket, Selwyn, and for the love of Allah help me to
select something here that I can pretend to have written. Fortunate