inctively the part of a savage barbarian-woman face
to face with the rival who has supplanted her with the man she loved--
they crooked themselves into claws.

"Well, I am blowed!" exclaimed Sir Hilton, with a puzzled look of horror
and despair so wildly comical, aided as it was by his making a drag with
both hands at his already too thin hair.

"Now, sir," cried Lady Lisle, "what have you to say to that?"

_Crash_!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE TOUT'S FINAL.

That crash was not a human utterance proceeding from the lips of Sir
Hilton Lisle, but a sudden shivering of glass, followed closely by the
falling of big flower-pots in the conservatory, amidst the breaking of
woodwork and rustling twigs and leaves.

But a human utterance followed in an angry, raucous voice which
shouted--

"Oh, murder! I've done it now; I've broke my blooming leg."

While faintly heard from somewhere outside there was the yelping,
barking, howling whine of a dog.

The effect was magical.

The ladies shrieked, the sleeper awakened, and sat up, frightened and
wondering, rubbing her eyes, and, as the two gentlemen rushed into the
conservatory, the two doors of the drawing-room were thrown open, for
Mark and Jane to enter by one, Syd and Sam Simpkins by the other.

"Oh, Syd!" sobbed Molly, holding out her arms.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the boy, after a glance at the great skin upon the
floor; "the cat's out of the bag now."

"Yes, reg'lar," growled the trainer. "There, don't you squeal, my gal.
There's enough to do the high strikes without you, and I'm going to see
as you have your rights."

"Syd, my darling, come here," cried Lady Lisle. "What does all this
mean?"

The boy was saved from answering by the action of Mark, who had darted
into the conservatory, dog-like, on hearing a scuffle going on, and more
breaking of glass, so as to be in the fight, and he now backed in,
dragging at the dilapidated legs of the race-tout, helped by Sir Hilton
and Granton, each of whom had hold of an arm, as they deposited their
capture on the carpet. "Gently, Marky Willows," said the prisoner,
coolly; "one of them legs is broke."

"Broken! Which?" cried the doctor, the natural instinct of his craft
rising above the feeling of triumph over the capture. In an instant he
was upon one knee, feeling for the fracture, "Why, they're both right
enough."

"Air they?" said the tout, coolly. "A blooming good job too! I thought
one was gone. Here,