man, more at home in London or Paris than in the
stubbles or covert." But he merely nodded acceptance of Henshaw's
statement.

"My name is Kelson," the soldier said, supplying an omission due to
Henshaw's talk of himself. "I have hunted this country pretty regularly
since I left the Service. And my friend is Hugh Gifford."

"Gifford? Did not Wynford Place where we are going to-night belong to the
Giffords?" Henshaw asked, curiosity overcoming tact.

"Yes," Gifford answered, "to an uncle of mine. He sold it lately to
Morriston."

"Ah; a pity. Fine old place," Henshaw observed casually. "Naturally you
know it well."

"I have had very good times there," Gifford answered, with a certain
reserve as though disinclined to discuss the subject with a stranger. "I
have come down now also for old acquaintance' sake," he added casually.

"I see," Henshaw responded. "Not altogether pleasant, though, to see an
old family place in the hands of strangers. Personally, when a thing is
irrevocably gone, as, I take it, Wynford Place is, I believe in letting
it slide out of one's mind, and having no sentiment about it."

"No doubt a very convenient plan," Gifford replied dryly. "All the same,
if I can retrieve my evening kit, which has gone astray, I hope to enjoy
myself at Wynford Place to-night without being troubled with undue
sentimentality."

"Good," Henshaw responded with what seemed a half-smothered yawn. "Regret
for a thing that is gone past recall does not pay; though as long as
there is a chance of getting it I believe in never calling oneself
beaten. Here we are at the _Lion_."

CHAPTER II

THE STAINED FLOWERS

"What do you think of our acquaintance?" Gifford said as they settled
down in the private room of Kelson, who made the _Golden Lion_ his
hunting quarters.

"Not much. In fact, I took a particular dislike to the fellow. Wrong type
of sportsman, eh?"

"Decidedly. Fine figure of a man and good-looking enough, but spoilt by
that objectionable, cock-sure manner."

"And I should say a by no means decent character."

"A swanker to the finger-tips. And that implies a liar."

"Not worth discussing," Kelson said. "He goes to-morrow. I made a point
of inquiring how long he had engaged his room for. One night."

"Good. Then we shan't be under the ungracious necessity of shaking him
off. I can't tell you how sick I am, Harry, at the loss of my things."

"No more than I am, my dear fellow. If only a suit