bar evening dress for one night. This was rather pretty in
its way, and I found he was a curious mixture of prettiness and
downright brutal ruthlessness. I found a man I knew slightly among the
guests, a chap named Effon, son of the soap man, and he told me that
Carville was one of the most extraordinary men he had ever met, that
women would almost come to him at the crooking of his finger, and even
men of mature age were dominated by him. And, as a matter of fact, soon
after Effon told me this, there was a case in point. Carville's flat
looked from the second floor on St. James' Street. One of the men who
lived at Chislehurst wanted to catch the 12.6 at Victoria and mentioned
casually to the servant to bring a car round. 'You won't catch the
12.6,' says Carville. 'Oh, yes, I shall,' said the other man. 'I bet you
a fiver you won't,' says Carville. 'Done,' said the other. It was about
twenty minutes to twelve then, and in the buzz of conversation and a
couple of games of cards Carville forgot his bet for a moment. Suddenly
he saw that the fellow was gone. He rushed to the door and found it
locked. Of course we all saw the game, and believed that Carville would
laugh and admit himself out-manoeuvred. Not a bit of it. He turned on
us, one hand on the door handle, and his face grew absolutely black with
rage. Honest Injun, I was scared of him then! He bounded across the
room, opened the window, sprang out upon the big stone coping and ran
along to the next flat. Here he opened the window--(I've heard afterward
that the people were just getting into bed)--stepped in, explained he
was doing it for a bet, ran to the door, down the stairs, and taking a
flying leap from the top step landed with both feet on the bonnet of
the car just as it was starting. Of course, he smashed the sparking
plugs, ignition gear and a lot of other details. We all crowded to the
window and looked out. He had won his bet.

"He came back smiling and assuring the chap that the morning would do
just as well for Chislehurst. The party broke up soon after and we went
to bed. At breakfast the next morning he was charming, wrote me a cheque
for the money, sitting in a gilt chair and writing on a Louis Seize
secretaire.

"'I forgot about you,' he told me. 'I had to rush round rather when I
came to town, and it put the matter out of my head. You don't go in for
motoring, I suppose, down in Essex?' I said, no, I was working. He
looked at his watch. 'I race t