constant backing against walls.

"Don't shoot!" she cried, as Mr. Peters absent-mindedly dipped his hand
into the pocket of his coat. "Oh, please don't shoot!"

"What the deuce do you mean?" said Mr. Bennett irritably. "Wilhelmina,
this man says that you told him you loved him."

"Yes, I did, and I do. Really, really, Mr. Peters, I do!"

"Suffering cats!"

Mr. Bennett clutched at the back of his chair.

"But you've only met him once," he added almost pleadingly.

"You don't understand, father dear," said Billie desperately. "I'll
explain the whole thing later, when...."

"Father!" ejaculated Jno. Peters feebly. "Did you say 'father?'"

"Of course I said 'father!'"

"This is my daughter, Mr. Peters."

"My daughter! I mean, your daughter! Are--are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Do you think I don't know my own daughter?"

"But she called me Mr. Peters!"

"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

"But, if she--if this young lady is your daughter, how did she know my
name?"

The point seemed to strike Mr. Bennett. He turned to Billie.

"That's true. Tell me, Wilhelmina, when did you and Mr. Peters meet?"

"Why, in--in Sir Mallaby Marlowe's office, the morning you came there
and found me when I was talking to Sam."

Mr. Peters uttered a subdued gargling sound. He was finding this scene
oppressive to a not very robust intellect.

"He--Mr. Samuel--told me your name was Miss Milliken," he said dully.

Billie stared at him.

"Mr. Marlowe told you my name was Miss Milliken!" she repeated.

"He told me that you were the sister of the Miss Milliken who acts as
stenographer for the guv'--for Sir Mallaby, and sent me in to show you
my revolver, because he said you were interested and wanted to see it."

Billie uttered an exclamation. So did Mr. Bennett, who hated mysteries.

"What revolver? Which revolver? What's all this about a revolver? Have
you a revolver?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Bennett. It is packed now in my trunk, but usually I
carry it about with me everywhere in order to take a little practice at
the Rupert Street range. I bought it when Sir Mallaby told me he was
sending me to America, because I thought I ought to be prepared--because
of the Underworld, you know."

A cold gleam had come into Billie's eyes. Her face was pale and hard. If
Sam Marlowe--at that moment carolling blithely in his bedroom at the
Blue Boar in Windlehurst, washing his hands preparatory to descending to
the coffee-room for a bit