ome one was hurt," Arnold said. "As a matter of
fact," he continued, "I don't think the man could have been dead. We
were all out of the room for about five minutes, and when we came
back he was gone. I think that he must have got up and walked away."

"You don't think that I murdered him, then?" Mr. Weatherley
inquired, anxiously.

"Not you," Arnold assured him. "You stopped his hurting Mrs.
Weatherley, though."

Mr. Weatherley sighed.

"I should like to have killed him," he admitted, simply. "Fenella
and Sabatini, too, her brother,--they both laugh at me. They're a
little inclined to be romantic and they think I'm a queer sort of a
stick. I could never make out why she married me," he went on,
confidentially. "Of course, they were both stoneybroke at the time
and I put up a decent bit of money, but it isn't money, after all,
that buys a woman like Fenella."

"I'm sure she will be very pleased to see you again, sir," Arnold
said.

"Do you think she will, Chetwode? Do you think she will?" Mr.
Weatherley demanded, anxiously. "Has she missed me while I have
been--where the devil have I been, Chetwode? You must tell me--tell
me quick! She'll be here directly and she'll want to know. I can't
remember. It was a long street and there was a public-house at the
corner, and I had a job somewhere, hadn't I, stacking cheeses? Look
here, Chetwode, you must tell me all about it. You're my private
secretary. You ought to know everything of that sort."

"I'll make it all right with Mrs. Weatherley," Arnold promised. "We
can't go into all these matters now."

"Of course not--of course not," Mr. Weatherley agreed. "You're quite
right, Chetwode. A time for everything, eh? How's the little lady
you brought down to Bourne End?"

"She's very well, thank you, sir," Arnold replied.

"Now it's a queer thing," Mr. Weatherley continued, "but only
yesterday--or was it the day before--I was trying to think whom she
reminded me of. It couldn't have been my brother-in-law, could it,
Chetwode. Did you ever fancy that she was like Sabatini?"

"I had noticed it, sir," Arnold admitted, with a little start.
"There is a likeness."

"I'm glad you agree with me," Mr. Weatherley declared, approvingly.
"Splendid fellow, Sabatini," he continued,--"full of race to his
finger-tips. Brave as a lion, too, but unscrupulous. He'd wring a
man's neck who refused to do what he told him. Yet do you know,
Chetwode, he wouldn't take money from me? He was