he millionaire
through the social labyrinth, hurriedly interpreted it to him as a
standing invitation to dinner. He thanked Mr. Kernaby, and begged that
a telegram might at once be sent to his father, informing him of his
success and safety.

"They tallygrams they yanners the saxpences, mah mannie," said the
millionaire with a falling face. "A poostcaird is a verra----"

But the anxious-looking younger son cut him short, said that it should
be sent at once, and bade the footman charged with its despatch bring
also a doctor to dress Tinker's wounded hands.

Meanwhile Sir Tancred, as soon as he learnt that Mr. Biggleswade had
caught the express, had hurried hot-foot in a devouring anxiety to
Beachley, where dwelt a pawnbroker, raised money, and caught there a
train to town. When he reached Cadogan Square he found Tinker making
an excellent tea after his exhausting labours, and giving an account of
the Biggleswades to a detective from Scotland Yard. When he had heard
Sir Tancred's story, too, the detective said that Mr. Biggleswade would
get five years; and the event proved him right.

There was no getting away from the grateful Kernabys, but after the
cooking of the Royal Victoria hotel Sir Tancred was more than ready for
a good dinner. He found in his host and hostess a strong disposition
to adopt Tinker forthwith; and before the end of dinner he found them
no less inclined to adopt him, too. But it could not be.

After dinner, disregarding the faint expostulations of the
anxious-looking younger son, the millionaire rose to his feet and
pronounced a glowing, fervid, but, save for the couplet,

"The rank is but the guinea stamp
The maan's the maan for a' that"

unintelligible eulogy on the family of Beauleigh.

As he drove away with Tinker to the Hotel Cecil, Sir Tancred crinkled
the millionaire's cheque in his waistcoat pocket, and said, "Four
thousand pounds is a good day's work--two thousand for you--and two
thousand for me. We'll move to Brighton. But I spent some of the most
horrible hours of my life wondering if that beast had got into the same
compartment with you. None of the fools at the station could tell me."

"I was afraid you'd be anxious, sir," said Tinker, patting his arm.
"But I think that Blazer and I could have dealt with him."

Then he gave Blazer--who, distended by the fat of the land, was snoring
heavily through happy dreams of the human calf, at the bottom of the
cab--a gentl