payable to him."

"Looks as right as a trivet," the young man assented, "but I'm one of
those chaps with instincts, you know, and I'm damned if I like Morse.
I shall try and get him canned to-night."

"I beg that you won't do any such thing," Jacob objected hastily. "It
is probably most necessary for my brother's interests that he should
remain in good health. Besides, you'll get into trouble yourself if
you don't mind."

A smile almost of pity parted the young man's lips.

"Don't you worry," he murmured. "It'd take half a dozen Morses, and
then some, to sew me up."

CHAPTER XXVII

It seemed to Jacob, when he was awakened from a sound sleep about four
o'clock the next morning, that his young companion's farewell words
had been vainglorious. He was first of all conscious of the sound of
heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the opening of Lord Felixstowe's
door, and the muffled tramp of two men evidently carrying some sort of
a burden. A few seconds later there was an apologetic knock at his own
door, and Morse presented himself. His evening attire was slightly
ruffled, he was not remarkably steady upon his feet, and his speech
was a little less precise than usual. Otherwise, he showed no signs of
a night of dissipation.

"Forgive my disturbing you, Mr. Pratt," he said, "but I thought I had
better just let you know that we've had a little trouble with his
young lordship this evening."

"You mean, I suppose," Jacob observed, "that he's had too much to
drink?"

Morse coughed--then hiccoughed and drew himself up with preternatural
gravity.

"Lord Felixstowe was certainly a little indiscreet," he admitted. "He
has a very good head for a young man, but he would insist upon
cocktails after champagne."

"Where is he now?"

"Lying down in his room. The chauffeur and I carried him up, and he
will be quite all right in the morning. I'll take the liberty of
sending a little draught round about breakfast time."

"Silly young ass!" Jacob yawned. "Thank you, Mr. Morse, and good
night."

"Good night, Mr. Pratt."

Jacob, after a few minutes' reflection, swung out of bed, put on his
dressing gown, and made his way into the adjoining apartment. Lord
Felixstowe, fully dressed, was lying upon the bed, breathing heavily.
Jacob approached and stood over him. His tie had gone altogether,
there were wine stains upon his shirt front, his hair, generally so
beautifully smooth, was in wild disorder.

"You bragging you