time and a portion of his perquisites to
relaxation before going into harness again.

On this particular evening he had in prospect a little dinner at
Philippe's--not uncheered by the smiles of venal beauty--and had just
completed a careful toilette. He was above the small peculations of his
order; indeed, had he been inclined to plunder his late masters
wardrobe, the absurd disproportion in their size would have saved him
from that vulgar temptation. He was somewhat choice in his tailors, and
his clothes fitted him and suited him well. He was reviewing the general
effect in the glass with a complacent and rather _egrillarde_ expression
in his little eyes, when between him and his _partie fine_ rose the
apparition of the colonel, like that of the commander before a bolder
profligate. He knew that the interview must come, and did not wish to
avoid it, but just at this moment it was singularly ill timed. What a
contrast between the stern, fixed gaze that seemed to nail him to the
spot where he stood and the well-tutored glances of fair, frail Heloise!
He felt as if he had been put into the ice-pail by mistake for the
Champagne. However, he met his ill luck placidly, and, handing his
visitor a chair, begged to know "what he could do to serve him."

"You can tell me what became of a letter from Miss Brandon, which ought
to have reached yow master two months ago, and miscarried."

Willis was forewarned and armed for the question; but, even with this
advantage given in, his blank, unconscious look and start of
astonishment did him infinite credit.

"A letter, sir?" he said, vaguely, as if consulting his recollections.
"From Miss Brandon? I have never seen or heard of such a thing. If I
had, of course I should have given it to Mr. Livingstone. What else
could I have done with it?"

"I will give a thousand francs for it," Mohun went on, without noticing
the denial, "or for a written acknowledgment of how you disposed of it,
and at whose orders." He laid the bank-note on the table.

The flats changed; the look of bewilderment gave place to one of injured
innocence--an appeal against manifest injustice. It was really
artistically done.

"I am sorry, sir, that you should think I want a bribe to serve you or
Mr. Livingstone. It is quite out of my power now. I don't know what you
refer to."

"I have no time to bargain," Ralph growled, and his eyes began to
glisten ominously. "Name your price, and have done with it."

Fina