ems hardly worth while to take him to the hospital," said one of
the men; "he would hardly last until we reach there. Still, if you
insist--"

"Yes, I insist," he cut in sharply.

"What name is to be entered?" asked the surgeon.

"Clinton Kendale. He is an actor, and my cousin," he responded in a low
even voice.

He watched them while they carried forth the unconscious man.

"My first test will be with the people of this house," he muttered,
shutting his teeth hard.

Thrusting the money still deeper in his pocket, he walked boldly down
the stairs, tapping at the door to the right, which he knew to be the
living room of the family.

"I am going to give up my room," he said.

"Laws a mercy, Mr. Armstrong!" exclaimed the old lady. "What sudden
notice! I am so sorry to lose you!"

He chatted for a few moments, paid what was due her, then turned hastily
and left the place, remarking before he went that he should not need the
few things that he left in his room; that she could keep them if she
liked as remembrances.

Once again he was out on the street, with the cold wind blowing on his
face.

"Nothing ventured, nothing won!" he said, under his breath. "Now for the
heiress and the million of money. By Jove! it's better to be born lucky
than rich. I shall need an accomplice in this affair, and that imp of
Satan, Halloran, is just the one to help me out with my scheme. It's
lucky I have an appointment with him to-night. I shall be sure to catch
him. I think it was a stroke of fate that I wasn't in the cast for the
rest of the week, though I kicked pretty hard against it at the time.
Good-by, footlights and freezing dressing-rooms. I can make a million of
money ere the day dawns."

He hailed a passing cab, jumped into it and was driven across the city.

Halloran, the comedian at the same theatre, was sitting in his room
half asleep over a half-emptied rum bottle. He always resorted to this
course to drown his sorrows when he was laid off.

An hour later the two men were driving with lightning-like rapidity
toward the direction of Beechwood.

"Ten," sounded from the belfry of a far-off church as the horses,
plunging and panting, struggled up the road that led to the Fairfax
mansion.

"Now see that you play your cards right," warned Halloran.

"Trust me for that," replied his companion, removing a cigar from his
white teeth, and blowing forth a cloud of smoke. He was about to draw a
flask from his breast poc