ft the shack on the side of the road
at Carnaby, but all was more or less hazy and indistinct. He
remembered deciphering the note and crumpling it up in his despair and
worry. Later, he recollected gathering up the loose papers and other
material evidences of Brenchfield's guilt, stuffing them into the
stove and setting them alight.

As he walked along his musings were brought to an abrupt stop, as his
eye caught sight of a tall, straight, picturesque-looking individual
coming toward him. The man was dressed in what at one time had been an
immaculate sporting suit, but which, in its now battered and tattered
state, gave the wearer the look of a bookmaker who had been dragged
through a mud puddle and then hung out to dry.

The man's wide sombrero was battered, his stock around his neck was
dirty, the brass buttons on his robin-redbreast waistcoat were dull
and tarnished, his riding breeches and leggings seemed sworn enemies
of brush and polish. But despite all this, one could not get away from
the fact that everything the man wore was of the very best and most
expensive materials.

He stepped up in front of Phil apologetically. His voice was
attractively musical and exceedingly English.

"Excuse me, old chap! I'm a stranger here. I'm deuced dirty and
devilish hungry. Do you mind directing me to a good hotel where I
could get a wash and a jolly good tuck in?"

"Certainly," said Phil. "I think the Kenora's all right. I'm going
that way myself for a snack, if you care to come along."

"Thanks! Jolly decent! Don't mind if I do!"

He turned with Phil, and as they went on together he took a little
silver case from his pocket and handed a card to Phil.

"My name! What's yours?"

Phil scanned the card and smiled.

Percival DeRue Hannington
The Oaks Mount Raeburn
Hants

"Sorry I haven't a card," he said. "My name's Ralston, Phil Ralston."

"Don't mention it, old chap! They don't cotton much to cards out here,
I notice."

He wrung Phil's hand heartily.

A little cord was hanging round Percival Hannington's neck and led to
a top pocket of his vest. Phil felt positive it terminated in a
monocle and, as the stranger's fingers wandered down the cord, Phil,
in his dread of what was about to happen, laid his hand restrainingly
over the travelling fingers.

"Don't!" he pleaded. "They don't cotton to that, either, out here."

The stranger flushed a lit