Under the rule of Miss Bull--for Margery was a mere figure-head--the house in Amelia Square was much more lively. Most of the old boarders had departed, as their nerves would not permit them to stop in a dwelling wherein a crime had been committed. Mrs. Taine carried her knitting to her sister's house at Clapham, Mr. Granger took the "Death of Nelson" to a boarding-house on Highgate Hill, and Harmer went to rejuvenate his antiquity at some German baths. In place of these ancient creatures came bright young men and girls who were up to date in every way. None of them minded about the crime. The house was cheap, it was now bright, and in a few months the tragedy was almost forgotten. No one would have recognized the changed atmosphere of the place, save for Miss Bull, who still sat nightly playing Patience in her favorite corner.

So little did she mind the horror of the murder that she took up her abode in Madame's sitting-room, where it had happened. She still retained her own bedroom, and Margery kept hers; but the sitting-room Miss Bull found very pleasant, for she could ask her friends into it for afternoon tea without having to mix with the too-lively boarders in the drawing-room. And the majority of them were extremely lively; so much so that Miss Bull sent several away and checked the exuberant spirits of the others. The girls played ping-pong, the men sang music-hall ditties, and in conjunction they tried to gamble. But Miss Bull soon put a stop to that. She had no notion that the house should get a bad name after her difficulty in obtaining the lease from Lord Derrington.

Of course, in spite of the fast air which certainly pervaded the house, all things were very proper. Miss Bull was a lady and saw that things were kept decent. The boarders feared her bright black eyes and her sharp tongue, and were always glad when she retired to her sitting-room. When they waxed too noisy, the little old maid would appear like an unquiet ghost, and the clamor would die away. But Miss Bull was also liked, as she was a very affable hostess.

She was thoroughly happy now, as she had what she most desired--power; and thought, like Satan, that it was better to rule in a certain place than to serve in the higher spheres. Margery was now, as ever, her docile slave, and Miss Bull governed with a rod of iron. She dismissed some of the servants, among them Jarvey, who had bettered himself by becoming a page-boy in a West-End mansion.

Among the new boarders Miss Bull took most notice of Bawdsey, who occupied the rooms formerly inhabited by Train. On his arrival he had asked particularly for these rooms, saying that he had once lived in them when he stopped with Mrs. Jersey many years before. After some thought Miss Bull remembered the man. He had boarded in the house, and had been a great favorite with Madame, but had later gone to America, and for some time had remained away. He expressed the greatest sorrow for the death of the old lady, but declared that he was very pleased with the house as managed by Miss Bull. The little woman liked him, as his conversation was amusing and he was most polite. But had she known that he was a private inquiry agent she might not have approved of him so much. Miss Bull was a lady and drew the line at spies.

What Bawdsey was she never inquired, as she was the least curious of women. His habits were certainly eccentric, for sometimes he would remain away for a week, and at other times would stop constantly in the house. He often remained in bed for the day and had his meals brought to him. This he called his bed-cure, and stated that he suffered from nerves. He told Miss Bull quite gratuitously that he had a small income and supplemented it by taking photographs of scenery and selling them to London firms. But he declared that he was not a professional photographer. He simply traveled here and there, and photographed any scenery which struck him as pretty. The London photographers gave him good prices for these, but he stated that he merely did such artistic work for the sake of an occupation. "I am simple in my tastes," said Mr. Bawdsey, "and what I have keeps me in luxury. But a man, even of my age, must be up and doing. Better to wear out than rust out."

Miss Bull assented. For the greater part of her life she had been rusting, and now that she had taken command of the house found that wearing out gave her an interest in things and prevented her from being bored. She liked to hear Bawdsey tell of his travels, and frequently asked him into her sitting-room for that purpose. He seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen everything. It appeared from his own confession that he began his travels at the early age of seventeen, when he went to Milan. And the man talked freely about himself--so freely that Miss Bull, in spite of her suspicious nature, never dreamed that all this chatter was for the purpose of throwing dust in her sharp eyes.

A week after the little dinner at Mrs. Ward's, Bawdsey sent a note to Brendon asking him to call on a certain afternoon, and when George, anxious to continue the acquaintance, and curious to know how Bawdsey had procured his address, arrived, he was shown up to the well-known room. Bawdsey welcomed him with enthusiasm, and much in the same style as Lola did, but in a less theatrical manner.

"My preserver," said Bawdsey, shaking hands vigorously, and George laughed.

"You put me in mind of a lady I know," he said; "she uses the same term--quite unnecessarily, as it happens."

"I don't agree with you," answered Bawdsey, to the astonishment of his visitor. "When a woman is rescued from starvation she has a right to call her good Samaritan the best of names."

"Oh," said Brendon, taking a seat, "so Lola has told you."

Bawdsey nodded. "I guess so," said he, with a pronounced American twang--somewhat too pronounced, George thought. "She told me all about your visit the other night."

"Did she never speak of me before?"

"Why, of course she spoke. I tell you, sir, that the girl is just bubbling over with gratitude. And you're a good man, Mr. Brendon. Yes, sir, some. You saved her and you saved me, and I sha'n't forget, and neither will she."

"Yet you said, when last we met, that she meant me harm."

"Jealousy, Mr. Brendon, sheer jealousy. I heard her talking of you, and wishing to marry you, so you can guess----"

"That you wish to put me against her."

"Not exactly that," responded Bawdsey, coolly. "I wish to choke you off. You see, Mr. Brendon, I love her."

"So she told me."

"Quite so, and she informed me that she had informed you. Well, I was a trifle jealous, as I'd lay down my life to make that lady Mrs. Bawdsey. But when I learned that you admired and were almost engaged to Miss Ward----"

"How the devil did you find that out?" asked George.

"Without the use of the word devil," said Bawdsey, dryly. "That is a long story, Mr. Brendon."

"You seem to know a great deal about me," said Brendon, nettled.

"I made it my business to find out, sir."

"Don't you think that is rather impertinent?"

"Well," drawled Bawdsey, combing his fingers through his ruddy locks, "you might put it that way if you like. A fortnight ago I should not have minded whether you thought me impertinent or not. But now that you saved my life I don't mind telling you that I wish to gain and retain your good opinion."

"Why?" asked George, more and more puzzled.

"Because I'm that rare animal--a grateful man. You have had a bad time all your life, Mr. Brendon, but now you shall have a good one, and I am the man who is going to help you right along."

George looked at him helplessly. He found it difficult to understand what all this meant. "Of course I know, from what Lola said, that you are a private inquiry agent," he remarked with hesitation.

"Vidocq & Co.," said Bawdsey, briskly, "23 Augusta Street, Strand. That's me Mr. Brendon, but you needn't mention it in this shanty."

"Are you an American, Mr. Bawdsey?"

"I am anything that suits. I can talk all languages, and try to tell the truth in every one. And the best day's work you ever did for yourself, Mr. Brendon, was in dragging me from under the feet of that horse. Yes, sir, I'm in line with you forever."

"This is all amusing, but a trifle confusing," said Brendon, feeling that he must get to the bottom of this chatter. "Will you answer a few questions, Mr. Bawdsey?"

"Yes. Fire ahead. Wait! Will you take whisky?"

"No, thanks. Yes, I'll take a cigar."

"Henry Clay," said Bawdsey, passing along a box; "and the questions?"

"You are a private inquiry agent?" asked George, when the cigar was well alight and Bawdsey had subsided into a chair.

"That's so. Vidocq & Company--an attractive title, I guess."

"And you were employed by Lola to watch me?"

"I was. Love will do anything for the object of its affections."

"Humph! there are different ways of looking at that. But you were also engaged by Lord Derrington to watch me?"

Bawdsey did not display the least surprise. "That's very creditable to your observation, Mr. Brendon. It's true."

"How did Lord Derrington find out that I was passing under the name of George Brendon?"

"Well, sir, if you will shove advertisements into the paper asking about the celebration of the marriage of Percy Vane and Miss Rosina Lockwood you must expect to be dropped upon."

"Oh, that was the way you found out!"

"That was the way," nodded Bawdsey. "You had the answers----"

"I had no answers," said Brendon, quickly.

"I am quite sure of that," replied the detective, coolly. "We should have heard of you in a court of law had you been successful. But what I mean to say is that you asked for the answers to be sent to G. B., Pembroke Square, Kensington. Derrington spotted that, and seeing that the marriage referred to was that of his son to----"

George waved his hand impatiently. "I see! I see! He hired you, and you looked me up."

"Quite so. I have had you under observation for the last six months."

"Confound it," cried Brendon, uncomfortably, "and I never knew."

Bawdsey winked. "I know my business," he said. "You don't find me sending myself up on any occasion. Any more questions, sir?"

"Only one," replied George. "Will you tell me exactly what you are doing in this galley?"

"Certainly. You shall have the whole story, Mr. Brendon. But in the first place I shall ask you a question in my turn. Do you know why I asked you to come and see me to-day?"

Brendon shook his head. "I have not the least idea," he confessed.

"I'll enlighten you," was the other man's reply; "to warn you that you are in danger of arrest."

"I in danger of arrest?" George jumped up. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, my meaning is clear enough. There is a chance that you may be accused of having murdered Mrs. Jersey."

George dropped back into his chair with a white face. "You must be mad to say such a thing. Who accuses me?"

"Lord Derrington."

"On what grounds?"

"On certain information he obtained from Mrs. Ward."

"What? Is she in it, too?"

"Very much in it. She is your bitter enemy. You see, Mr. Brendon, it is not her game that you should marry the daughter. Mrs. Ward knows that you are a clever man with a will of your own, and that she will not be able to twist you around her finger, which is what she wishes to do with any son-in-law who may come her way. That young fool Vane is the man she wants. He will inherit the title and a good income. Mrs. Ward, should he marry the girl, will benefit. If the title and income came your way she would make very little out of the business. Consequently she will stick at nothing to get you out of the way."

"But she doesn't know that I claim to be Lord Derrington's grandson?"

"Indeed, she does," replied Bawdsey, quickly. "Derrington told her all about it."

"Why?"

"Now that," said Bawdsey, shaking his head and looking puzzled, "is one of the things I can't make out."

George thought for a moment. "I was at Mrs. Ward's the other evening," he said slowly. "Lord Derrington was there. Did he know then that I was his grandson?"

"He did. He has known ever since you put the advertisement in the paper and I looked you up."

"Humph! Then he was putting me through my paces," said Brendon to himself. "What a clever man he is in concealing his thoughts. And Mrs. Ward knew also who I was?"

Bawdsey nodded. "Yes. And after that evening she came to see Lord Derrington to suggest how you should be got rid of."

"Ah!" George was now perfectly cool as he saw that Bawdsey, being so fran............