oing to be in England for some time. Let us play bridge.
I have to leave early to-night--I am dining out--and I should like to
make a little money."

They strolled into the bridge-room. Selingman hung behind with Norgate.

"Soon," he suggested, "we must finish our talk, is it not so? Dine with
me to-night. Mrs. Benedek has deserted me. We will eat at the Milan
Grill. The cooking there is tolerable, and they have some Rhine wine--but
you shall taste it."

"Thank you," Norgate assented, "I shall be very pleased."

They played three or four rubbers. Then Mrs. Benedek glanced at
the clock.

"I must go," she announced. "I am dining at eight o'clock."

"Stay but for one moment," Selingman begged. "We will all take a little
mixed vermouth together. I shall tell the excellent Horton how to
prepare it. Plenty of lemon-peel, and just a dash--but I will not give
my secret away."

He called the steward and whispered some instructions in his ear. While
they were waiting for the result, a man came in with an evening paper in
his hand. He looked across the room to a table beyond that at which
Norgate and his friends were playing.

"Heard the news, Monty?" he asked.

"No! What is it?" was the prompt enquiry.

"Poor old Baring--"

The newcomer stopped short. For the first time he noticed Mrs. Benedek.
She half rose from her chair, however, and her eyes were fixed upon him.

"What is it?" she exclaimed. "What has happened?"

There was a moment's awkward silence. Mrs. Benedek snatched the paper
away from the man's fingers and read the little paragraph out aloud. For
a moment she was deathly white.

"What is it?" Selingman demanded.

"Freddy Baring," she whispered--"Captain Baring--shot himself in his room
at the Admiralty this afternoon! Some one telephoned to him. Five minutes
later he was found--dead--a bullet wound through his temple!... Give me
my chair, please. I think that I am going to faint."

CHAPTER XIV

Selingman and Norgate dined together that evening in a corner of a large,
popular grill-room near the Strand. They were still suffering from the
shock of the recent tragedy. They both rather avoided the topic of
Baring's sudden death. Selingman made but one direct allusion to it.

"Only yesterday," he remarked, "I said to little Bertha--I have known her
so long that I call her always Bertha--that this bureau work was bad for
Baring. When I was over last, a few months ago, he was the picture of
heal