one has been here, but I can swear—harder—that twice to-day I’ve seen Giuseppe, or his double, and I believe he ran to earth in here.”

“I’ve not seen the fellow,” said Everitt, coolly.

“Well, you may take my word for it he’s been here. Do you mean to tell me I don’t know that old sun-burnt cloak of yours?”

“I mean to tell you nothing, except that I’ve not seen Giuseppe.”

“Where’s the cloak?”

“Where it always is, I presume. Look for yourself.”

Jack investigated the cupboard. There was the cloak certainly, also the red waistcoat, also the brown hat with the crossed ribbons, also the sandals, with—and this was strange—a stain or two of fresh mud. He brought them to Everitt triumphantly.

“They’ve been worn this morning; how do you account for that?”

The other man looked black.

“For pity’s sake, Jack, leave the thing alone! You want to know if Giuseppe’s been here, and I tell you no. That’s enough. You’re so abominably inquisitive!”

Jack stared at him meditatively for a few moments; then he flung himself into an armchair, stretched out his legs, and burst into a vociferous peal of laughter. It lasted long enough for Everitt to get red, try to look stern, and finally to break into an accompanying laugh himself.

“What a fool you are!” he said presently, by way of compensation.

“Oh, I say!” cried Jack, when he could speak; “if this doesn’t beat everything! I knew there was something up, but I never thought of anything so rich as this. My very reverend, grave, and sober Mentor!”

“Shut up!”

“I’d have given all I have in the world to have been there,” Jack continued, springing up in the ecstasy of his feelings. “A precious bad bargain she must have had! You stand for a model! You couldn’t, my dear fellow, to save your life. I say, aren’t you stiff? Everitt?”

“Well?”

“I believe it was the duke’s daughter put it into your head?”

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