warded: we did arrive safely in Dieppe. I still marvel that we
did.

That evening, in the vestibule of the casino, Grierson came up to me.

"Seen Jimmy Pethel?" he asked. "He was asking for you. Wants to see
you particularly. He's in the baccarat-room, punting, winning hand
over fist, OF course. Said he'd seldom met a man he liked more than
you. Great character, what?"

One is always glad to be liked, and I pleaded guilty to a moment's
gratification at the announcement that Pethel liked me. But I did not
go and seek him in the baccarat-room. A great character assuredly he
was, but of a kind with which (I say it at the risk of seeming
priggish) I prefer not to associate.

Why he had particularly wanted to see me was made clear in a note sent
by him to my room early next morning. He wondered if I could be
induced to join them in their little tour. He hoped I wouldn't think
it great cheek, his asking me. He thought it might rather amuse me to
come. It would be a very great pleasure to his wife. He hoped I
wouldn't say no. Would I send a line by bearer? They would be
starting at three o'clock. He was mine sincerely.

It was not too late to tackle him even now. Should I go round to his
hotel? I hesitated and--well, I told you at the outset that my last
meeting with him was on the morrow of my first. I forget what I wrote
to him, but am sure that the excuse I made for myself was a good and
graceful one, and that I sent my kindest regards to Mrs. Pethel. She
had not (I am sure of that, too) authorized her husband to say she
would like me to come with them. Else would not the thought of her,
the pity of her, have haunted me, as it did for a very long time. I do
not know whether she is still alive. No mention is made of her in the
obituary notice which awoke these memories in me. This notice I will,
however, transcribe, because it is, for all its crudeness of
phraseology, rather interesting both as an echo and as an
amplification. Its title is "Death of Wealthy Aviator," and its text
is:

Wide-spread regret will be felt in Leicestershire at the tragic death
of Mr. James Pethel, who had long resided there and was very popular as
an all-round sportsman. In recent years he had been much interested in
aviation, and had had a private aerodrome erected on his property.
Yesterday afternoon he fell down dead quite suddenly as he was
returning to his house, apparently in his usual health and spirits,
a