sickening
fear had arisen in his heart--gripped him by the throat. Fooled once
more, and by Peter Ruff!

"It isn't Spencer!" Maud said huskily. "Mr. Ruff," she added, turning
to him, "you know very well that this is not the Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald
whom you promised to bring here to-night--Mr. Spencer Fitzgerald to whom
I was once engaged."

Peter Ruff pointed to the figure of her husband.

"Madam," he said, "my invitation did not include your husband."

John Dory took a step forward, and laid his hands upon the shoulders of
the man who called himself Mr. James Fitzgerald. He looked into his face
long and carefully. Then he turned away, and, gripping his wife by the
arm, he passed out of the room. The door slammed behind him. The sound
of heavy footsteps was heard descending to the floor below.

Violet Brown crossed the room to where Peter Ruff was still sitting with
a queer look upon his face, and, gripping him by the shoulders, shook
him.

"How dare you!" she exclaimed. "How dare you! Do you know that I have
nearly cried my eyes out?"

Peter Ruff came back from the world into which, for the moment, his
thoughts had taken him.

"Violet," he said, "you have known me for some years. You have been my
secretary for some months. If you choose still to take me for a fool, I
cannot help it."

"But," she exclaimed, pointing to Mr. James Fitzgerald--

Peter Ruff nodded.

"I have been practising on him for some time," he said, with an air of
self-satisfaction.

"A thin, mobile face, you see, and plenty of experience in the art of
making up. It is astonishing what one can do if one tries."

Mr. James Fitzgerald picked up his hat and coat.

"It was worth more than five quid," he growled; "when I saw the
handcuffs in that fellow's hand, I felt a cold shiver go down my spine."

Peter Ruff counted out two banknotes and passed them to his confederate.

"You have earned the money," he said. "Go and spend it. Perhaps,
Violet," he added, turning towards her, "I have been a little
inconsiderate. Come and have dinner with me, and forget it."

She drew a little sigh.

"You are sure," she murmured, "that you wouldn't rather take Maud?"

CHAPTER VI. THE LITTLE LADY FROM SERVIA

Westward sped the little electric brougham, driven without regard to
police regulations or any rule of the road: silent and swift, wholly
regardless of other vehicles--as though, indeed, its occupants were
assuming to themselves the rights