I don't want the privilege," Littimer smiled. "A man with
a face like that couldn't reform; nature would resent such an enormity.
And yet you can never tell. Physically speaking, my quondam friend
Hatherly Bell has a perfect face."

"I confess I am anxious to see him," Chris said. "I--I heard him lecture
in America. He had the most interesting theory about dogs. Mr. Henson
hates dogs."

"Yes," Henson said, shortly, "I do, and they hate me, but that does not
prevent my being interested in the coming of Dr. Bell. And nobody hopes
more sincerely than myself that he will succeed in clearly vindicating
his character."

Littimer smiled sarcastically as he trifled with his claret glass. In his
cynical way he was looking forward to the interview with a certain sense
of amusement. And there was a time when he had enjoyed Bell's society
immensely.

"Well, you will not have long to wait now," he said. "It is long past
ten, and Bell is due at any moment after eleven. Coffee in the
balcony, please."

It was a gloriously warm night, with just a faint suspicion of a breeze
on the air. Down below the sea beat with a gentle sway against the
cliffs; on the grassy slopes a belated lamb was bleating for its dam.
Chris strolled quietly down the garden with her mind at peace for a time.
She had almost forgotten her mission for the moment. A figure slipped
gently past her on the grass, but she utterly failed to notice it.

"An exceedingly nice girl, that," Littimer was saying, "and distinctly
amusing. Excuse me if I leave you here--a tendency to ague and English
night air don't blend together."

CHAPTER XXX

GONE!

It was the very moment that Henson had been waiting for. All his
listlessness had vanished. He sprang to his feet and made his way
hurriedly across the lawn. Dark as it was, he slipped along with the ease
of one who is familiar with every inch of the ground. A man half his
weight and half his age could have been no more active.

He advanced to what seemed to be the very edge of the cliff and
disappeared. There were rocks and grassy knolls which served as landmarks
to him. A slip of the foot might have resulted in a serious accident.
Above the gloom a head appeared.

"That you, Merritt?" Henson asked, hoarsely.

"Oh, it's me right enough," came the muttered reply. "Good job as I'm
used to a seafaring life, or I should never have got up those cliffs.
Where's the girl?"

"Oh, the girl's right enough. She's s