omplete victory. The shaft went home. But only for an instant.
With wonderful alacrity he recovered himself and, shaking me feebly by
the hand, bade me good-bye, promising to see that my message was
properly delivered. When he had gone I laid myself back in my chair for
a good think. The situation was a peculiar one in every way. If he were
up to some devilry I had probably warned him. If not, why had he
betrayed himself so openly?

Half an hour later an answer to my first telegram arrived, and, such is
the working of Fate, it necessitated my immediate return to London. I
had been thinking of going for some days past, but had put it off. Now
it was decided for me.

As I did not know whether I should return to Bournemouth, I determined
to call upon the Marquis to bid him good-bye. Accordingly I set off for
the house.

Now if Burke may be believed, the Duke of Glenbarth possesses houses in
half the counties of the kingdom; but I am told his seaside residence
takes precedence of them all in his affections. Standing well out on the
cliffs, it commands a lovely view of the bay--looks toward the Purbeck
Hills on the right, and the Isle of Wight and Hengistbury Head on the
left. The house itself, as far as I could see, left nothing to be
desired, and the grounds had been beautified in the highest form of
landscape gardening.

I found my friend and his father in a summer-house upon the lawn. Both
appeared unaffectedly glad to see me, and equally sorry to hear that I
had come to bid them good bye. Mr. Baxter was not visible, and it was
with no little surprise I learned that he, too, was contemplating a trip
to the metropolis.

"I hope, if ever you visit Bournemouth again, you will come and see us,"
said the Duke as I rose to leave.

"Thank you," said I, "and I hope if ever your son visits Australia you
will permit me to be of some service to him."

"You are very kind. I will bear your offer in mind."

Shaking hands with them both, I bade them good-bye, and went out through
the gate.

But I was not to escape without an interview with my clerical friend
after all. As I left the grounds and turned into the public road I saw a
man emerge from a little wicket gate some fifty yards or so further down
the hedge. From the way he made his appearance, it was obvious he had
been waiting for me to leave the house.

It was, certainly enough, my old friend Baxter. As I came up with him he
said, with the same sanctimonious grin th