song,--shouting its _de profundis_, each degenerate soul
bucking up its lost fellow with a challenge to go one better and
mock at its hell--when of a sudden, as I say, the moon rose, and
the conductor caught up his stick, and the whole damned crew
floated off on _The Magic Flute_. . . . It wasn't on the
programme. It just happened, and no one paid them the smallest
attention. . . . But there it was: ten minutes of ecstasy.

"They ceased upon the night: and the next news was that after
five minutes' interval they were chained again and
conscientiously throwing vim into _Boum-Poump_ with the
standardised five thumps of jollity on the kettledrum.

"So the champak odours failed--What is champak? Have the Germans
synthetised it yet?--and I awoke from dreams of thee. I walked
back by way of the Quais--by the river:"

Dissolute man!
Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can.

"But I have played for safety and am writing this with the aid of
a whisky-and-Perrier to hope that it finds you well as it leaves
me at present.

"I dare say it struck you as a poorish kind of trick--my inviting
you to Prince's and leaving you to pay for the repast.
The reason of my sudden bolt was a sudden report that Farrell
intended to start at once for a holiday on the Continent of
Europe--that he had been to Cook's and bought himself a circular
ticket for the Riviera--Paris, Toulon, Cannes, Nice, etc.--on to
Genoa, Paris by Mt. Cenis--that sort of thing. I should tell
you that, being chin-deep in winding up my affairs, I had
employed a man to watch his movements. Shadowing Farrell is a
soft option, even now, when he's painfully learning the
rudiments of flight: four months ago he had not even a nascent
terror to make him suspicious. Oh, never fear but I'll educate
him, dull as he is! Remember your _Ancient Mariner_, Roddy?
Here are two passages purposely set wide apart by the author,
that I'll put together for you to choose between 'em,--"

(1) As who, pursued with yell and blow,
Still treads the shadow of his--Foe,
And forward bends his head. . . .

(2) Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more hi