en it came to saying good night, every one remembered their genial
entertainers, and Jill was a little consoled by the assurances she
received on all hands that the evening had been a delightful one.

"Try to think it was nice," said she, "and don't go saying it was horrid
as soon as you get outside. It's Tom's and my first party, you know."

And she kissed all the gentlemen, from the Duke downward, and Tom,
hovering in the hall, pressed his farewell refreshments, as far as they
would go, upon them and gave them a "leg up" into their carriages.

Dr Brandram stayed till the end.

"I should have to come and see Mrs Parker in the morning in any case,"
said he, "so I have told Raffles to make me a shake down in Armstrong's
room to-night. I may as well stay here."

The precaution, however, was unnecessary. Mr Ratman had vanished. He
did not call on Mr Pottinger next morning, nor was he to be found at
the hotel. He had returned by the early morning train to London.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A FEEBLE CLUE.

Mr Fastnet's lodgings were a good deal less imposing than Roger, who
had hitherto only met the owner at the club, had pictured to himself.
In fact, the small sitting-room, with bedroom to match, commonly
furnished, reeking of tobacco, and hung all round with sporting and
dramatic prints, was quite as likely a refuge for an unfledged medical
student as for a person of the swagger and presence of Mr Felix
Fastnet.

"No use to me," he explained, interpreting his young guest's thought,
"except as a dog-kennel. I live at the club--breakfast, lunch, dinner--
everything; but I was so disgusted with the performance of that young
cad to-night that I even prefer the dog-kennel. Have a soda?"

Roger accepted, and sat down by the fire.

"Yes," growled on his host; "I'm father of that club, and I don't like
to see it degraded. If he'd gone for you, and kicked you into the
street, I shouldn't have lifted a finger to stop him. He could have
made hay of you if I'd chosen, a sickly youngster like you."

"I wonder he did not," said Roger; "but, Mr Fastnet, now I have met
you, I want to ask you a question."

"Ask away."

"My name, as you know, is Roger Ingleton. Have you never met any one of
my name before?"

"Bless me, no. Why should I?"

"I had a namesake once who came to London, and I wondered if you
possibly knew him."

"My dear sir, I don't know quite all the young men who have come to
London during the las