arm of his friend.

"Oh, pardon me!" exclaimed Flockart suddenly, releasing his arm. "Your
watch-chain is hanging down. Let me put it right for you." And for a few
seconds he fumbled at the chain, at the same time holding something in
the palm of his left hand. "There, that's right," he said a few minutes
later. "You caught it somewhere, I expect."

"On one of the knobs of my writing-table perhaps," said the other.
"Thanks. I sometimes inadvertently pull it out of my pocket."

A faint smile of triumph passed across the dark, handsome face of the
man, who again took his arm, as at the same time he replaced something
in his own jacket-pocket. He had in that instant secured what he wanted.

"You were saying with much truth, my dear Flockart, that in dealing with
a man who cannot see there is occasionally a temptation towards
dishonesty. Well, this very day I intend to have a long chat with my
wife, but before I do so will you promise me one thing?"

"And what is that?" asked the man, not without some apprehension.

"That you will remain here, disregard the gossip that you may have
heard, and continue to assist me in my helplessness in making full and
searching inquiry into Macdonald's alleged defalcations."

The man reflected for a few seconds, with knit brows. His quick wits
were instantly at work, for he saw with the utmost satisfaction that he
had been entirely successful in disarming all suspicion; therefore his
next move must be the defeat of that man's devoted defender, Gabrielle,
the one person who stood between his own penniless self and fortune.

"I really cannot at this moment make any promise, Sir Henry," he
remarked at last. "I have decided to go."

"But defer your decision for the present. There is surely no immediate
hurry for your departure! First let me consult my wife," urged the
Baronet, putting out his hand and groping for that of Flockart, which he
pressed warmly as proof of his continued esteem. "Let me talk to
Winifred. She shall decide whether you go or whether you shall stay."

CHAPTER XVI

SHOWS A GIRL'S BONDAGE

Walter Murie had chosen politics as a profession long ago, even when he
was an undergraduate. He had already eaten his dinners in London, and
had been called to the Bar as the first step towards a political career.
He had a relative in the Foreign Office, while his uncle had held an
Under-Secretaryship in the late Government. Therefore he had influence,
and hoped by its ai