er and have what they called a gay evening.
They retired to their various apartments to change, Mr. Gaynsforth
perfectly well satisfied with his progress, Mr. James B. Coulson with a
broad grin upon his face.

After a very excellent dinner, for which Mr. Gaynsforth insisted upon
paying, they went to the Folies Bergeres, where the Englishman developed
a thirst which, considering the coolness of the evening, was nothing
short of amazing. Mr. Coulson, however, kept pace with him steadily, and
toward midnight their acquaintance had steadily progressed until they
were certainly on friendly if not affectionate terms. A round of the
supper places, proposed by the Englishman, was assented to by Mr.
Coulson with enthusiasm. About three o'clock in the morning Mr. Coulson
had the appearance of a man for whom the troubles of this world are
over, and who was realizing the ecstatic bliss of a temporary Nirvana.
Mr. Gaynsforth, on the other hand, although half an hour ago he had been
boisterous and unsteady, seemed suddenly to have become once more the
quiet, discreet-looking young Englishman who had first bowed to Mr.
Coulson in the bar of the Grand Hotel and accepted with some diffidence
his offer of a drink. To prevent his friend being jostled by the
somewhat mixed crowd in which they then were, Mr. Gaynsforth drew nearer
and nearer to him. He even let his hand stray over his person, as though
to be sure that he was not carrying too much in his pockets.

"Say, old man," he whispered in his ear,--they were sitting side by side
now in the Bal Tabarin,--"if you are going on like this, Heaven knows
where you'll land at the end of it all! I'll look after you as well as
I can,--where you go, I'll go--but we can't be together every second
of the time. Don't you think you'd be safer if you handed over your
pocketbook to me?"

"Right you are!" Mr. Coulson declared, falling a little over on one
side. "Take it out of my pocket. Be careful of it now. There's five
hundred francs there, and the plans of a loom which I wouldn't sell for
a good many thousands."

Mr. Gaynsforth possessed himself quickly of the pocketbook, and
satisfied himself that his friend's description of its contents was
fairly correct.

"You've nothing else upon you worth taking care of?" he whispered. "You
can trust me, you know. You haven't any papers, or anything of that
sort?"

Then Mr. James B. Coulson, who was getting tired of his part, suddenly
sat up, and a so