tickets are all right you can bet on the place." 

 "I'm agreeable," I said, in a matter-of-fact voice. 

 "Good man!" said he, with some of his former sparkle of interest. "And now we'll have another to toast it, and then I must be off." 

 "Don't you think you'd better stay here the night?" I asked. "I can put you up. And the fog's thicker." 

 "Thanks, old man," he replied with easy familiarity, "I would like a roost, only I've got an engagement. I wired to some one, you know." And he winked at me wickedly. 

 "Very well," said I. "If you have an appointment, I would suggest that we leave over the toast." 

 "You're right," he said ingenuously. "But it was a nasty bath. All serene. I'll fix that up. By the way," he paused on his road to the door, "I haven't your name." 

 "Nor I yours," I answered. "Mine's Richard Phillimore." 

 "Mine's Lane," he said. "Qualified?" 

 "M.B. London," I replied. 

 "Good for you. That'll make it easier. I suppose I can go in your togs." 

 "You're welcome," I said, "though they don't fit you very well." 

 "Oh, I'm a bit smaller than you, I know, but all cats are grey in the dark, and it's infernally dark to-night! Well, so long, and I'm much obliged to you, I'm sure." 

 He swung out of the door with his free gait, and I stopped him. 

 "One word more. Who's your owner?" 

 "The boss? Oh, Morland—Morland, a regular millionaire." 

 With that he was gone. 

 

 CHAPTER II 

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