ia--Triffitt, who frequently read Byron and Shelley to his
adored one, said it made one think of moonlight and gondolas, and
similar adjuncts to what he called _parfaite amour_. Then it was divided
off into little cabinets, just holding four people--that was an
advantage when you were sure of your company. And for the _prix fixe_ of
two shillings they gave you quite a good dinner; also their Chianti was
of exceptional quality, and according to the proprietor, it came
straight from Siena.

On this Sunday evening, then, Triffitt on one side of a table with his
lady-love, Carver on the other with his, made merry, with no thought of
anything but the joys of the moment. They had arrived at the last stages
of the feast; the heroes puffed cigarettes and sipped Benedictine; the
heroines daintily drank their sweetened coffee. They all chattered
gaily, out of the fulness of their youthful hearts; not one of them had
any idea that anything was going to happen. And in the midst of their
lightsomeness, Triffitt, who faced a mirror, started, dropped his
cigarette, upset his liqueur glass and turned pale. For an instant he
clutched the tablecloth, staring straight in front of him; then with a
great effort he controlled his emotion and with a cautious hissing of
his breath, gazed warningly at Carver.

"'Sh!" whispered Triffitt. "Not a word! And don't move--don't show a
sign, any of you. Carver--turn your head very slowly and look behind
you. At the bar!"

At the entrance to that restaurant there was a bar, whereat it was
possible to get a drink. There were two or three men, so occupied,
standing at this bar at that moment--Carver, leisurely turning to
inspect them, suddenly started as violently as Triffitt had started a
moment before.

"Good heavens!" he muttered. "Burchill!"

"Quiet!" commanded Triffitt. "Quiet, all of you. By Gad!--this is----"

He ended in an eloquent silence and with a glare at his companions
which would have imposed silence on an unruly class-room. He was already
at work--the quick, sure journalistic instinct had come up on top and
was rapidly realizing the situation. That the man standing there,
openly, calmly, taking a drink of some sort, was Frank Burchill he had
no more doubt than of his own identity. The thing was--what was to be
done?

Triffitt was as quick of action as of thought--in two seconds he had
made up his mind. With another warning glance at the startled girls, he
bent across the table to