riting, a Polish name, that I might (it is true) have
subconsciously heard at some time or other, but that stirred no chord in
my memory even when I saw it written. Maschka checked and confirmed it
afterwards; and I did not tell her by what odd circumstance it had issued
from my pen.

The day did come, however, when I found I must have it out with Schofield
about this superciliousness I have mentioned. The _Falchion_ had just
begun to print the third series of my _Martin Renard_; and this had been
made the occasion of another of Schofield's ponderous compliments. I
acknowledged it with none too much graciousness; and then he said:

"I've na doubt, Harrison, that by this time the famous sleuth-hound of
crime has become quite a creature of flesh and blood to ye."

It was the tone as much as the words that riled me; and I replied that
his doubts or the lack of them were a privacy with which I did not wish
to meddle. From being merely a bore the fellow was rapidly becoming
insolent.

"But I opine he'll get wearisome now and then, and in that case poor
Michael's 'Life' will come as a grand relaxation," he next observed.

If I meant to have it out, here was my opportunity.

"I should have thought you'd have traced a closer connection than that
between the two things," I remarked.

He shot a quick glance at me from beneath his shaggy russet brows.

"How so? I see varry little connection," he said suspiciously.

"There's this connection--that while you speak with some freedom of what
I do, you are quite willing to take advantage of it when it serves
your turn."

"'Advantage,' Harrison?" he said slowly.

"Of the advertisement _Martin Renard_ gives you. I must point out that
you condone a thing when you accept the benefit of it. Either you
shouldn't have come to me at all, or you should deny yourself the
gratification of these slurs."

"Slurrrrs?" he repeated loweringly.

"Both of you--you and Miss Andriaovsky, or Maschka as I call her, _tout
court_. Don't suppose I don't know as well as you do the exact worth of
my 'sleuth-hound,' as you call him. You didn't come to me solely because
I knew Andriaovsky well; you came because I've got the ear of the
public also; and I tell you plainly that, however much you dislike it,
Michael's fame as far as I'm of any use to him, depends on the
popularity of _Martin Renard."_

He shook his big head. "This is what I feared," he said.

"More," I continued, "you can depend upon