e us all. If it's to be his man-servant,
his maid-servant----"

"Stop," cried Delavoye; "stop in time, my dear man, before you come to
one or other of us! Can you seriously think it a mere coincidence that a
thing like this should happen on the very spot where the very same thing
has happened before?"

"I don't see why not."

"I had only the opposite idea to go upon, Gilly, and yet I found exactly
what I expected to find. Was that a fluke?"

"Or a coincidence--call it what you like."

"Call it what _you_ like," retorted Delavoye with great good-humour.
"But if the same sort of thing happens again, will it still be a
coincidence or a fluke?"

"In my view, always," I replied, hardening my heart for ever.

"That's all right, then," said he with his schoolboy laugh. "You pays
your money and you takes your choice."

CHAPTER III

A Vicious Circle

The Berridges of Berylstow--a house near my office in the Witching Hill
Road--were perhaps the very worthiest family on the whole Estate.

Old Mr. Berridge, by a lifetime of faithful service, had risen to a fine
position in one of the oldest and most substantial assurance societies
in the City of London. Mrs. Berridge, herself a woman of energetic
character, devoted every minute that she could spare from household
duties, punctiliously fulfilled, to the glorification of the local Vicar
and the denunciation of modern ideas. There was a daughter, whose name
of Beryl had inspired that of the house; she was her mother's miniature
and echo, and had no desire to ride a bicycle or do anything else that
Mrs. Berridge had not done before her. An only son, Guy, completed the
_partie carree_, and already made an admirable accountant under his
father's eagle eye. He was about thirty years of age, had a mild face
but a fierce moustache, was engaged to be married, and already picking
up books and pictures for the new home.

As a bookman Guy Berridge stood alone.

"There's nothing like them for furnishing a house," said he; "and
nowadays they're so cheap. There's that new series of Victorian
Classics--one-and-tenpence-halfpenny! And those Eighteenth Century
Masterpieces--I don't know when I shall get time to read them, but
they're worth the money for the binding alone--especially with
everything peculiar taken out!"

_Peculiar_ was a family epithet of the widest possible significance. It
was peculiar of Guy, in the eyes of the other three, to be in such a
hurry to leave