e."

This was too much for Tommy. All his dapper gaiety had disappeared. His
clothes seemed to hang loosely on his limbs, and a perspiration broke
out on his forehead. All his self-control vanished, and he fell
abjectly on his knees and cried out for mercy.

"Get up, you lying scoundrel," said Reg. "What mercy did you or he
show."

"I'll tell you all, Morris. I'll tell you all," gasped his victim.

"Then get up and do so at once, for you have but three minutes."

"What do you want to know?"

"All you know about Villiers Wyckliffe, and this power he is said to
possess."

Tommy started with a tremulous voice, and narrated in disjointed
sentences all that is known to the reader, the Detlij Club, all Wyck's
secrets, his affair with Miss Williamson, and his own share in procuring
the invitations for the Bachelors' Ball.

"Where has he gone now?" said Reg, still fingering the revolver.

"To Adelaide by the _Himalaya_."

"Is he going direct?"

"Yes he is, I swear."

"Then go down on your knees, Tommy, and swear you will never divulge
that you have told me all this, and that you will not communicate with
him."

"I swear, Morris," and Tommy was fairly on his knees.

"Now go. You are only his accomplice. You did not do the deed, so I'll
let you go; but mark my words, if ever I hear of you mixing my name up
with yours, I shoot you like a dog. Now go," said Reg, unlocking the
door, through which Tommy rapidly slipped without a second bidding.

"It's really wonderful what an empty pistol can do with some fellows,"
said Reg to himself, as he drank a glass of wine and straightened the
table.

"Miss Williamson," he continued, musing to himself, "Marjorie
Williamson; you are the poor victim who lost your mother and your
livelihood through the same man. I must see you, for you and I ought to
shake hands."

Half-an-hour later, he entered the Caledonian Theatre by the stage-door,
at the entrance of which he was confronted by an old fellow, who gruffly
enquired his business.

"Have you been here long?" he asked.

"Yes, close on twenty years; why?"

"I want a little information. What's your name?"

"Jones. What's yours?"

"Mine is Morris."

"Well, what is it you want to know?" said Jones, looking suspiciously at
him.

"Do you know Miss Williamson?"

"Yes, I do."

"Can you tell me where she lives?"

"No, I can't; and what's more, you'd better clear. She was ruined by one
of you cursed--"

"Stay, Jones,