asper," he said, almost scornfully, watching
the struggling, aristocratic crowd with a half-contemptuous smile on his
lips. "Why, it's hard work. They fight and push for the sake of a few
hours spent in a crowded, poisoned room; and there's no prophet to rise
up and proclaim it madness."

"No," laughed Vermont cynically; "prophets nowadays have no liking for
being stoned; and, after all, life would be unendurable, were it not for
its pleasures. Let me remind you that it is nearly four o'clock, and you
are due at Lord Standon's rooms."

With a sigh Leroy turned and jumped into the motor, followed by his
faithful squire; and the powerful car hooted its way through the
twilight of the dawn.

They reached Lord Standon's chambers, to find the finish of a theatre
party. The room was filled with beautiful women, mostly stars of the
musical comedy stage, including Ada Lester, who was evidently on her
best behaviour.

Here, amidst light and laughter, the goddess of pleasure was being feted
by her youthful worshippers, and none appeared a more eager votary than
Adrien Leroy. Yet, as he stood, champagne glass in hand, propounding the
toast of the evening--or rather morning, for the dawn was breaking in
the sky--there was none to tell him of the impending cloud of treachery
that hung over his head. None who dare warn him to beware of the
friendship of--Mr. Jasper Vermont.

CHAPTER VIII

High up in the woods of Buckinghamshire stood Barminster Castle, so old
that one-half of its pile dated back to Norman times; while the whole,
with the wings and parts added by the successive generations of Leroys,
might have passed for a royal palace by reason of its splendour and
magnificence.

Needless to say, the Leroys were proud of their ancestral home, for
there had been Leroys since William the Conqueror had calmly annexed the
land on which it now stood, and had given it to his faithful baron,
Philip Le Roi. But they valued still more the love and respect of their
people, who in hamlet and village surrounded the castle as naturally as
did the woods.

Yet the present Lord Barminster had done little to keep the flame of
loyalty alight in the hearts of his tenants. He was an old man, nearing
seventy, tall, white-headed and haughty--every feature clear-cut, as if
carved from marble. Few people had ever seen the stern lines of that
face relax in light-hearted laughter since the death of his young wi