ave done is really not half bad. His Majesty will see you
to-morrow. I am glad that you are safe."

"On my way home," said Powers, with quiet modesty, "I was attacked by a
lion----"

"But you beat it off," said the Premier. "Exactly. Good night."

CHAPTER V

It was on the following afternoon that Sir John Elphinspoon presented
the Wazoo Annexation Bill to a crowded and breathless House.

Those who know the House of Commons know that it has its moods. At times
it is grave, earnest, thoughtful. At other times it is swept with
emotion which comes at it in waves. Or at times, again, it just seems to
sit there as if it were stuffed.

But all agreed that they had never seen the House so hushed as when Sir
John Elphinspoon presented his Bill for the Annexation of Wazuchistan.
And when at the close of a splendid peroration he turned to pay a
graceful compliment to the man who had saved the nation, and thundered
forth to the delighted ears of his listeners--

_Arma virumque cano Wazoo qui primus ab oris_,

and then, with the words "England, England," still on his lips, fell
over backwards and was carried out on a stretcher, the House broke into
wild and unrestrained applause.

CHAPTER VI

The next day Sir Perriton Powers--for the King had knighted him after
breakfast--stood again in the conservatory of the house in Carlton
Terrace.

"I have come for my reward," he said. "Do I get it?"

"You do," said Angela.

Sir Perriton clasped her in his arms.

"On my way home," he said, "I was attacked by a lion. I tried to beat
it----"

"Hush, dearest," she whispered, "let me take you to father."

IV

WHO DO YOU THINK DID IT?

OR, THE MIXED-UP MURDER MYSTERY

(_Done after the very latest fashion in this sort of thing_)

_IV.--Who Do You Think Did It? or, The Mixed-Up Murder Mystery._

_NOTE.--Any reader who guesses correctly who did it is entitled (in all
fairness) to a beautiful gold watch and chain._

CHAPTER I

HE DINED WITH ME LAST NIGHT

The afternoon edition of the _Metropolitan Planet_ was going to press.
Five thousand copies a minute were reeling off its giant cylinders. A
square acre of paper was passing through its presses every hour. In the
huge _Planet_ building, which dominated Broadway, employes, compositors,
reporters, advertisers, surged to and fro. Placed in a single line
(only, of course, they wouldn't be likely to consent to it) they would
have reac