nd larger
as he gazed, the veritable writing of fate pressed upon the envelope by
a rubber stamp--by the hand, perchance, of a clerk--"Opened by Censor."

There was a momentary singing in his ears. He looked at his glass, found
it full, raised it to his lips and drained it. The ghastly moment of
suspended animation passed. He felt no longer that he was in a room from
which all the air had been drawn. He was himself again but the letter
was there. Mr. Gordon Jones, who had been talking to the bishop, leaned
towards him and pointed to the envelope.

"Is that yours, Sir Alfred?" he asked.

Sir Alfred nodded.

"Becoming a little more stringent, I see," he observed, holding it up.

"I thought I recognised the mark," the other replied. "A most outrageous
mistake! I am very glad that it came under my notice. You are absolutely
free from the censor, Sir Alfred."

"I thought so myself," Sir Alfred remarked. "However, I suppose an
occasional mistake can scarcely be wondered at. Don't worry them about
it, please. My Dutch letters are simply records of the balances at my
different banks, mere financial details."

"All the same," Mr. Gordon Jones insisted, "there has been gross neglect
somewhere. I will see that it is inquired into to-morrow morning."

"Very kind of you," Sir Alfred declared. "As you know, I have been able
to give you fragments of information now and then which would cease
at once, of course, if my correspondence as a whole were subject to
censorship. An occasional mistake like this is nothing."

There was another interruption. This time a message had come from the
house--Ministers would be required within the next twenty minutes. The
little party--it was a men's dinner-party only--broke up. Very soon Sir
Alfred and his nephew were left alone. Sir Alfred's fingers shook for
a moment as he tore open the seal of his letter. He glanced through the
few lines it contained and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come this way, Ronnie," he invited.

They left the dining-room and, eschewing the inviting luxuries of the
billiard room and library, passed into a small room behind, plainly
furnished as a business man's study. Granet seized his uncle by the arm.

"It's coded, I suppose?"

Sir Alfred nodded.

"It's coded, Ronnie, and between you and me I don't believe they'll be
able to read it, but whose doing is that?" he added, pointing with his
finger to the envelope.

"It must have been a mistake," Granet muttered