rd to the detriment of my friends!"

"Then it _is_ to be war?" queried the journalist, rolling a cigarette.

"Not so far as I'm concerned," replied his host. "Why don't you let
bygones be bygones? A truce between the United States and Spain may be
declared any day, and then--"

"Then my great scoop will be lost for ever. What would the public care
about conspirators if there were no war?"

"Exactly what I say," said Cecil. "So let's drop the whole matter."

"Not much!" cried the journalist. "It's my last chance. And if you won't
help me--why, I must help myself."

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Turn 'em out of Blanford."

"Impossible!"

"But your father?"

"How dare you mention my father's name in this connection? I won't have
him dragged into publicity to sell your dirty rag of a newspaper!" Cecil
exploded, thoroughly beside himself at the thought of such a dreadful
possibility.

The journalist nodded his head gravely. Banborough's fierce defence of
the Bishop he attributed to far other grounds than those on which it was
really based. It justified him to the tramp's suspicions that his
Lordship was actually connected with the plot.

"Well," he said, with a fair pretence of backing down, "there's no need
of getting so hot about it. Of course I don't want to make myself
disagreeable."

"Neither do I," replied his host. "Only we may as well understand each
other. You're quite welcome to come to the palace as long as you
remember to be a gentleman before you are a journalist. But if you
forget it, I'll be forced to treat you as you deserve," and turning on
his heel, he left Marchmont chewing the ends of his sandy moustache with
a grim avidity that boded ill for the peace of the Bishop and his
household.

The American told himself that he must work carefully. Banborough would
watch him and probably put the others on their guard. And moreover, he
would not hesitate to dismiss him from the palace, which, apart from the
unpleasantness of the operation, would be well-nigh fatal to the success
of the scheme the journalist was maturing. Decidedly the highest caution
was essential, but he must work quickly, for there was no time to be
lost. Marchmont therefore proceeded to pump the first member of the
company he came across. This happened to be Spotts, who was in rather a
bad humour, the result of a morning spent with the Bishop in the
cobwebby heights of a neighbouring church-tower.

"You're the very person I