he doctor and Mr. Blackie have been in playing billiards
with the Pater. I strongly suspect the Pater let the old chap win.
Anyway, he was very excited about it when he went home."

She turned over to the last page, and read, "given Toby his biscuit and
told him Master will soon be home. He will, won't he, dear boy?

"Your loving old MUM."

She frowned. Louis had slid down to the floor and was curled up against
the wall, making himself as small as possible, muttering, and
occasionally grasping out at something that eluded him.

The next letter was very much the same as the first--little loving
messages, circumstantial accounts of trivial family interests. Cook had
been ill again and the soup was burnt one night because the temporary
cook sent by Miss Watkin's Agency was certainly not up to her job. Mary
had been to see "The Chocolate Soldier" again, and was very bored. One
of the Wayre girls--the fair one--had dyed her hair for a church concert
and couldn't wash it off again.

And he said these letters were a code!

Marcella had a quick struggle with two sides of her nature. The Kelt in
her hugged the thought that these were secret service papers to be
guarded with her life for his sake, his country's sake. There was
nothing extraordinary to her in the thought that, in the reign of George
V, torturing enemies were abroad with knife and bastinado and poison
cup. She saw herself standing over his prostrate body, with countless
slain enemies before her, and a dripping spear in her hand. She got a
glimpse of King George, with ringlets, velvet suit and Vandyke lace
collar gravely smiling as he received the papers from her hands. She was
still in the romantic stage of kingship! And then the stolidly
common-sense Puritan ancestress in her made her laugh. It was hard for
her to disbelieve a romantic and perilous tale. But these letters! They
were simply the pathetic love-letters of a mother to her boy, bringing
an atmosphere of a commonplace, peaceful English home into all this
madness. With that the truth dawned on her. There were eight of them,
each mentioning money! Louis had admitted not writing to his father to
put a stop to his remittance. She had forgotten to insist that it was
done. Here was the explanation of his present orgy!

He was kneeling on the floor now, trying to grip his bitten, bleeding
fingers into the wall and crawl upwards. He thought he was in a well,
drowning. As she bent over him the well vanishe