nty. The beggar would have had my blood if it hadn't been for
you, old man. It's only one more good turn out of a million, Billy, but
I shan't forget it.'

With that he arose and shook Barndale's hand.

'What did you do with the girl?' asked Barndale.

'Took her home. The Bloke who had such strong objections to me is her
sweetheart.

He's engaged to her; but she says she hates him, and is afraid of him.
She'll be more afraid of him now than ever, and with better reason.
I suppose I shall have to stop here a time, and see that she isn't
murdered. Suppose I went to that Greek sweep, Billy--I've got his
address--and explained to him politely that it was all a mistake, and
that I'm sorry I went poaching on his manor, and told him that if he
liked to have a pot at me he'd be quite welcome! D'ye think that would
be of any use, old man?'

'Leave ill alone!' said Barndale, pulling solemnly away at his pipe.

'I can't,' answered Leland. 'That cove's likelier to murder her than
not, if he hasn't got me to murder. Look here, Billy, I'll marry the
girl.'

'Don't be a fool,' said Barndale. 'What do you know about the girl?'

'Lots,' answered the imperturbable James.

'Highly connected. Lots of tin. Character irreproachable. That elderly
Bulgarian party, Kesanlyk Attar of Roses man, knew all about her. The
fat Bloke aboard the boat. You know.'

'He won't hurt her,' said Barndale, thinking of the Greek lover, 'and
you're well out of it. Why should you marry the girl? There's nothing
worse than I know, is there?'

'There's nothing at all in it but that confounded meeting at the
Concordia.'

'Keep out of the way of the man in future,' Barndale counselled his
friend,' and leave him and his ladylove to make this matter up between
them. That'll all blow over in time.' With that he said good-night, and
rose to go. At the door he turned and asked--

'Who is the man?'

Leland produced his pocket-book, searched for a page, found it, and
handed it over to. Barndale. There, in a delicate but tremulous hand,
was written, 'Demetri Agryopoulo, Hotel Misserie, Grande Rue de Pera.'

'He lives in this house,' said Barndale gravely. 'Lock your door before
you go to bed.'

Leland took his advice.

The next morning at table d'hote they met the Greek. He was evidently
well known at the table, and was popular. His right wrist was bandaged,
and in answer to many friendly inquiries, he said it had been sprained
by a fall. He never look