rs
here, has consulted me as to the loss of a betting book, and we ventured
to call to ask you, sir, if by any chance on his recent visit to your
house--"

"God in Heaven, it's Masters!" Dyson exclaimed. "It's Job Masters!"

"That's me, sir," Masters admitted. "Mr. Ruff thought you might be able
to help me find that book."

Sir Richard swayed upon his feet. Then the blood rushed once more
through his veins.

"Your book's here in my cabinet, safe enough," he said. "You left it
here after our luncheon that day. Where on earth have you been to, man?"
he continued. "We want some money from you over Myopia."

"I'll pay all right, sir," Masters answered. "Fact is, after our
luncheon party I'm afraid I got a bit fuddled. I don't seem to remember
much."

He sat down a little heavily. Peter Ruff hastened to the table and took
up a glass.

"You will excuse me if I give him a little brandy, won't you, sir?"
he said. "He's really not quite fit for getting about yet, but he was
worrying about his book."

"Give him all the brandy he can drink," Sir Richard answered.

The detective's face had been a study. He knew Masters well enough by
sight--there was no doubt about his identity! His teeth came together
with an angry little click. He had made a mistake! It was a thing which
would be remembered against him forever! It was as bad as his failure to
arrest that young man at Daisy Villa.

"Your visit, Masters," Sir Richard said, with a curious smile at the
corners of his lips, "is, in some respects, a little opportune. About
that little matter we were speaking of," he continued, turning towards
the detective.

"We have only to offer you our apologies, Sir Richard," Dory answered.

Then he crossed the room and confronted Peter Ruff.

"Do I understand, sir, that your name is Ruff--Peter Ruff?" he asked.

"That is my name, sir," Peter Ruff admitted, pleasantly "Yours I
believe, is Dory. We are likely to come across one another now and then,
I suppose. Glad to know you."

The detective stood quite still, and there was no geniality in his face.

"I wonder--have we ever met before?" he asked, without removing his eyes
from the other's face. Peter Ruff smiled.

"Not professionally, at any rate," he answered. "I know that Scotland
Yard you don't think much of us small fry, but we find out things
sometimes!"

"Why didn't you contradict all those rumours as to his disappearance?"
the detective asked, pointing to where Job M