roduced one of his sovereigns but
the man could not make change, neither could any of the passengers.

"I'll call at the livery stables as I go back," said Jones, "and pay
them there."

"Where are you stayin' in the town?" asked the driver.

"Belinda Villa," said Jones.

It was the name of the villa against whose rails he had left the
bicycle. The idiocy of the title had struck him vaguely at the moment
and the impression had remained.

"Mrs. Cass?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Cass's empty."

This unfortunate condition of Mrs. Cass did not floor Jones.

"She was yesterday," said he, "but I have taken the front parlour and a
bed-room this afternoon."

"That's true," said a fat woman, "I saw the gentleman go in with his
luggage."

In any congregation of people you will always find a liar ready to lie
for fun, or the excitement of having a part in the business on hand;
failing that, a person equipped with an imagination that sees what it
pleases.

This amazing statement of the fat woman almost took Jones' breath away.
But there are other people in a crowd beside liars.

"Why can't the gentleman leave the sovereign with the driver and get the
change in the morning?" asked one of the weedy looking men. This
scarecrow had not said a word to anyone during the drive. He seemed born
of mischance to live for that supreme moment, diminish an honest man's
ways of escape, and wither.

Jones withered him:

"You shut up," said he. "It's no affair of yours--cheek." Then to
the driver: "You know my address, if you don't trust me you can come
back with me and get change."

Then he turned and walked off whilst the vehicle drove on.

He waited till a bend of the road hid it from view, and then he took to
the fields on the left.

He had still the remains of the packet of cigarettes he had bought at
Sandbourne, and, having crossed four or five gates, he took his seat
under a hedge and lit a cigarette.

He was hungry. He had done a lot of work on four Banbury cakes and an
apple.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ONLY MAN IN THE WORLD WHO WOULD BELIEVE HIM

The tobacco took the edge from his desire for food, increased his blood
pressure, and gave rest to his mind.

He sat thinking. The story of "Moths" rose up before his mind and he
fell to wondering how it ended and what became of the beautiful heroine
with whom he had linked Teresa Countess of Rochester, of Zouroff with
whom he had linked Maniloff, of Correze with whom he had l