E. Phillips Oppenheim

“ Before the train had come to a standstill, he was on his way to the barrier.
“Luggage, sir?” inquired a porter, attracted by the benevolent appearance of this robust-looking, middle-aged gentleman in the uniform of the American Y. M. C. A.
“Checked my baggage right through,” Mr. Cray replied, without slackening speed. “What I need is a taxi. What you need is five shillings. Let's get together.”
Whether he was serving a lunatic or not, the five shillings was good money and the porter earned it. In exactly two minutes after the arrival of the train, Mr. Cray was on his way to the Milan Hotel. ”

“ Cray's evening. The young man at close quarters seemed more distraught than ever. He ignored his coffee. He ignored his coffee and drank two glasses of liqueur brandy quickly. His wife scarcely took her eyes off him, and Sara's attempts to inaugurate a little general conversation were pitifully unsuccessful. Mr. Cray took the bull by the horns.
“Say, Mr. Domville,” he began, “Sara tells me that you've run against a snag somewhere. If there's any way I can be of service, just open up. You and I are strangers, but anything my daughter says goes, so you can count on me as upon an old friend.” ”

“ Mr. Cray interrupted solemnly:
“Marvelous!” she exclaimed. “But was that necessary, Dad?”
“Well, I don't know” he admitted. “I guess they don't all know how to use liquor as I do. Some of the lads out there get gay on nothing at all. So the day I put the uniform on, and went on the water wagon. I took myself off,” he murmured, a reminiscent smile of joy, “an hour and a half ago. Where's George?”
“Sailed for the States yesterday.”
“You don't say!”
Sara nodded. ”

“ Cray! Was all that true?”
“Bible truth,” Mr. Cray declared.
“But Colonel Haughton? He's a well-known man—a D.S.O.—head of his department.”
“I guessed he was the real thing,” Mr. Cray acknowledged. “They do fool us sometimes, you know—these men no one would suspect.”
Domville was on his feet now, going through all the phases of a rapid recovery to sanity.
“And you actually knew this Joseph Saunderson?” he exclaimed wonderingly.
“One of my washers,” Mr. Cray explained with unabated cheerfulness, “who was promoted to the coffee urn two months ago. ”

“ Mr. Cray interrupted. “Miss Clare, as you call her, is married to one of the best-known crooks in the United States, although you, Colonel, seem to have ruined yourself trying to support her for the last few years. This woman who calls herself Mrs. Saunderson, was once her dresser, and is a very fair actress still. Joe Saunderson was in charge of the coffee urn in one of our Y. M. C. A huts for over six months, and I heard the story of his detention and release with a clean bill, a dozen times. Now what are you going to do about it, Domville? It's up to you.” ”

“ Cray. I'm going to take Lydia right off home now.”
Mr. Cray nodded sympathetically, and drew Sara away.
“It's a long story, my dear,” he told her, “but things are fixed up all right for young Domville. He hasn't a worry left in the world. You shall have the whole yarn over luncheon.”
Sara grasped her father's hand affectionately.
“Dad,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, “you're a marvel!”
That night, Colonel Haughton, D. S. O., shot himself in his study, owing, it was stated, to financial troubles and general depression, and Miss Clare accepted a suddenly proffered engagement in America. ”

“ Domville left his wallet of dispatches hanging in Miss Clare's hall,” Colonel Haughton continued, “a disgracefully careless proceeding. When he found me at the War Office that evening, he handed me two envelopes instead of three. He said nothing to me about the third, but realizing the loss, returned to Miss Clare's and later searched his own rooms. Miss Clare knew nothing about the possibly missing dispatch: Domville could discover nothing in his rooms. In the meantime, a prisoner in the Tower was shot at midnight that night. ”

“ The young man spoke to the girl, hesitatingly, almost apologetically. She answered with pleading, at last almost with anger. Their dinner remained untasted. In the end, the man rose and followed the boy from the room. The girl remained. ”

“ AS they took their places at a table in the corner of the restaurant, Sara exchanged friendly greetings with a girl a short distance away, who was dining alone with a man.
“Lydia Domville,' she whispered to her father. “Lydia's rather a dear. She was at that wonderful school you sent me to in Paris. She's only been married a year.”
“They don't seem to be living in a garden of roses exactly,” Mr. Cray commented, glancing at the young man. “Seems all on wires, doesn't he? ”

“ That's why I say I'll have ten thousand pounds tomorrow if it means your last sixpence.”
There was an uneasy silence. Mr. Cray gathered up the threads of the situation.
“It doesn't seem as if there's any more to be said,” he declared. “If you'll bring the lady along to my rooms at the Milan tomorrow at twelve o'clock, Colonel, I'll go into this young man's affairs in the meantime and give him advice.” ”