flung out and the door shut finally.

"If either of those guys comes here again," said Jones to the acolyte,
"call an officer--I mean a constable."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I wonder how many more people I will have to fling out of this house,"
said he to himself, as he returned to the smoking room. "My God, what a
mess that chap Rochester must have made all round. Bar bummers like
those! Heu!"

He ordered the ink to be cleared up, and then he sent for Mr. Church. He
was excited.

"Church," said he. "I've shot out two more of that carrion. You know all
the men I have been fool enough to know. If they come here again tell
the servants not to let them in."

But he had another object in sending for Church. "Where's my cheque
book?" he asked.

Church went to the bureau and opened a lower drawer.

"I think you placed it here, my Lord." He produced it.

When he was gone Jones opened the book; it was one of Coutt's.

He knew his banker now as well as his solicitor. Then he sat down, and
taking Rochester's note from his pocket began to study the handwriting
and signature.

He made a hundred imitations of the signature, and found for the first
time in his life that he was not bad at that sort of work.

Then he burnt the sheets of paper he had been using, put the cheque book
away and looked at the clock; it pointed to eleven.

He switched out the lights and left the room, taking his way upstairs.

He felt sure of being able to find the bed-room he had left that morning,
and coming along the softly lit corridor he had no difficulty in
locating it. He had half dreaded that the agile valet in the sleeved
jacket might be there waiting to tuck him up, but to his relief the room
was vacant.

He shut the door, and going to the nearest window pulled the blind up
for a moment.

The moon was rising over London, and casting her light upon the Green
Park. A huge summer moon. The sort of moon that conjures up ideas about
guitars and balconies.

Jones undressed, and putting on the silk pyjamas that were laid out for
him, got into bed, leaving only the light burning by the bedside.

He tried to recall the details of that wonderful day, failed utterly,
switched out the light, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER X

LADY PLINLIMON

The most curious thing in the whole of Jones' extraordinary experiences
was the way in which things affecting Rochester affected him. The
coldness of the club members was an instance in point. He k