Does that meet your views?"

    "Excellently," he laughed.

    She did not speak until they were clear of Hampton and had struck a secondary roads then she pulled the car to the side of the roadway and stopped the engine.

    "If people see us they will take an obvious view. I hope it won't embarrass you?" she said with a laugh. Jack smiled but blushed.

    "You look a capable sort of person," she went on, eyeing him with frank approval, but I don't quite know in what capacity Mr. Hemmer has sent you." She hesitated. "You're not a detective, are you?"

    "No," laughed Jack. "I'm not exactly a detective. I might be more properly described as a bravo."

    It was her turn to laugh.

    "A hired assassin? Well, I don't want anybody assassinated. Captain Bryce, but I am very much worried about my brother. I despair of checking his excesses, and, although my best friend, Mrs. Fleming—you probably know Mrs. Fleming?"

    "I don't go about much," said Jack, "except by motor 'bus."

    Again she laughed.

    "She has advised me to let Dennis go his own pace. Now I'll tell you my plan."

    She sat back in her seat, her hands clasped about her knees, as wholesome a picture of British girlhood as Jack Bryce had ever seen. "I have some friends in Australia, and they wrote me some months ago, telling me that a young man named Mortimer, the son of a rich squatter, was coming with a letter of introduction, and Dennis and I were going show him round To-day I got a cable from my friends saying that he could not sail for six months, and apologizing for not having advised me sooner."

    "I see," said Jack, nodding, '"You would like me to be Mr. Mortimer?"

    "You've got it. We have promised to put him up for a day or two, and his room is quite ready. I had to see you, you know. I'm so scared about the people that lawyers employ, but you look the part."

    "Prepare the blue bedroom." said Jack solemnly. "I will arrive in Park Lane at seven o'clock this evening."

    At seven o'clock that night Jack, appropriately dressed in a travelling ulster, with two large portmanteaux (he had bought one that afternoon in Victoria Street) was picked up by an apologetic chauffeur, who presented his mistress's compliments and regrets for keeping him waiting. He did not see the girl when he got to the house, but when he was dressed for dinner he found her waiting in the drawing-room, and with her was a young man who sat hunched up on a settee, his hands in his pockets and a frown on his sallow face.

    "Mr. Mortimer? I am glad to see you," said the girl. "This is my brother Dennis." The young man uncoiled himself from the sofa and offered a limp hand. He stood eyeing the newcomer with a certain amount of disfavour.

    "How do?" he grunted ungraciously. "Is dinner ready?"—this to his sister.

    Dinner was announced at that moment. Throughout the meal the young man scarcely spoke a word. Jack Bryce talked entertainingly of Australia (he had spent two hours reading an Australian novel to get the local colour), and the girl was entertained and secretly amused. Before the end of the dinner the young man got up, and with a look at his wrist-watch—

    "I have an appointment. You'll excuse me, Mr. Mortimer?" he said. "My sister will see you to your room. I hope you're comfortable.