ttle. "I am very busy--not a moment to spare."

"Of course, sir, and no wonder; but I do wish it hadn't been such a dull
morning."

"Dull?" cried Stratton, rushing to the window; "I thought it was all
sunshine."

"Of course you did, sir; so did I; and well I remember it, though it's
forty years ago."

"Mrs Brade, I told you I was busy. I thank you for your
congratulations, and I gave you all your instructions yesterday, so pray
what do you want?"

Mrs Brade, wife of the inn porter, lifted the corner of her apron to
her mouth, and made a sound like the stifling of a laugh.

"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure, and of course it's natural at such a
time. I came because you sent word by the waiter that I was to--"

"Of course, yes: about ten. I'm so busy, I forgot," cried Stratton
hastily. "Look here, Mrs Brade, I want you to go over to the bank; it
will be open by the time you get across. Cash this cheque for me; bring
all notes--tens and fives."

"A hundred and fifty pounds, sir?"

"Yes; take a hand bag with you. Don't get robbed."

"Oh, no, sir. I know too much of the ways of London town."

"That's right. Excuse my being hurried with you."

"Of course, sir; I know well what your feelings must be. (Sniff,
sniff.) Why, you can smell Mr Brettison a-smoking his ubble-bubble
with that strange tobacco right in here."

As the woman spoke she went straight across to the door on the left of
the fireplace.

"Here! where are you going?" cried Stratton.

"Back directly, sir," came in smothered tones, accompanied by the
pulling of a bath chain, the gurgling of water, and the sound of
shutting down a heavy lid.

"Lor', how strong Mr Brettison do smell, sir. It's my memory's got
that bad, sir," said the woman, reappearing and carefully shutting the
door, "that I'm obliged to do things when I see them want doing, else I
forgets. It was only yesterday that Mr Brettison--"

"Mrs Brade, the cheque, please."

"Of course, sir," said the woman hastily just as there was a little
rat-tat at the brass knocker of the outer door, which she opened.

"Here is Mr Brettison, sir," and she drew back to admit a spare
looking, grey man, dressed in dark tweed, who removed his soft felt hat
and threw it, with a botanist's vasculum and a heavy oaken stick, upon
an easy-chair, as he watched the departure of the porter's wife before
turning quickly and, with tears in his eyes, grasping Stratton's hands
and shaking them warm