n
neither read nor write."

"I don't like it," said Crewe. "I hate that kind of thing. Why not give
Solly a chance? Why not get up a fight--a duel, anything but
cold-blooded murder?"

The colonel turned his cold eyes upon the other, and his lips parted in
a mirthless smile.

"You're speaking up to your character now, aren't you, Crewe?" he said
unpleasantly. "You're 'Gentleman Crewe' once again, eh? Want to do
everything in the public school fashion? Well, you can cut out all that
stuff and feed it to the pigs. I'm Dan Boundary, looking forward to a
pleasant old age. There's nothing of the Knights of the Round Table
about me."

Crewe flushed.

"All right," he said, "have it your own way."

"You bet your life I'm going to have it my own way," said the colonel.
"Have you seen the girl this morning, Pinto?"

Pinto shook his head.

"You'll keep away from there for a couple of days. I've got Boyton on
the spot and he'll be feeding her with bromide till she won't care
whether she's in hell or Wigan. Besides, we'll all be shadowed for the
next day or two, make no mistake about that. Stafford King won't let the
grass grow under his feet. And now, you chaps, go home and try to look
as though you've had a night's rest."

After their departure the colonel made his own preparations. There were
Turkish baths in Westminster and it was to the Turkish baths he went.
Clad in a towel, he passed from hot room to hot room, and finally came
to the big, vaulted saloon, tiled from floor to roof, where in
canvas-backed chairs the bathers doze and read. The colonel lay back in
his chair, his eyes closed, apparently oblivious to his surroundings.
Nor was it to be observed that he saw the thin little man who came and
sat beside him. The new-comer was sallow-skinned and lantern-jawed, and
his long arms were tattooed from shoulder to wrist.

"Here!" said a soft voice in French.

The colonel did not open his eyes. He merely dropped the palm fan which
he was idly waving to and fro so that it hid his mouth.

"Do you remember a Monsieur White?" he said in the same tone.

"Perfectly," replied the other. "He was the man who would not have your
little 'coco' friend--disposed of."

"That is the man," said the other. "You have a good memory, Raoul."

"Monsieur, my memory is wonderful, but alas! one cannot live on memory,"
he added sententiously.

"Then remember this: there is a place near London called Putney Heath."

"Putney Heath,"