Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room. “I’ll go. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper.
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