1.

　　In these days of rapid movement, when existence has become littlemore than a series of shocks of varying intensity, astonishment isthe shortest-lived of all the emotions. The human brain has traineditself to elasticity and recovers its balance in the presence of theunforeseen with a speed almost miraculous. The man who says 'I _am_surprised!' really means 'I was surprised a moment ago, but now Ihave adjusted myself to the situation.' There was an instant in whichJill looked at Wally and Wally at Jill with the eye of totalamazement, and then, almost simultaneously, each began--the processwas sub-conscious--to regard this meeting not as an isolated andinexplicable event, but as something resulting from a perfectlylogical chain of circumstances. Jill perceived that the presence inthe apartment of that snap-shot of herself should have prepared herfor the discovery that the place belonged to someone who had knownher as a child, and that there was no reason for her to be stunned bythe fact that this someone was Wally Mason. Wally, on his side, knewthat Jill was in New York; and had already decided, erroneously, thatshe had found his address in the telephone directory and was payingan ordinary call. It was, perhaps, a little unusual that she shouldhave got into the place without ringing the front door bell and thatshe should be in his sitting-room in the dark, but these were minoraspects of the matter. To the main fact, that here she was, he hadadjusted his mind, and, while there was surprise in his voice when hefinally spoke, it was not the surprise of one who suspects himself ofseeing visions.

　　"Hello!" he said.

　　"Hullo!" said Jill.

　　It was not a very exalted note on which to pitch the conversation,but it had the merit of giving each of them a little more time tocollect themselves.

　　"This is . . . I wasn't expecting you!" said Wally.

　　"I wasn't expecting _you!_" said Jill.

　　There was another pause, in which Wally, apparently examining herlast words and turning them over in his mind found that they did notsquare with his preconceived theories.

　　"You weren't expecting me?""I certainly was not!""But . . . but you knew I lived here?"Jill shook her head. Wally reflected for an instant, and then put hisfinger, with a happy inspiration, on the very heart of the mystery.

　　"Then how on earth did you get here?"He was glad he had asked that. The sense of unreality which had cometo him in the first startling moment of seeing her and vanished underthe influence of logic had returned as strong as ever. If she did notknow he lived in this place, how in the name of everything uncannyhad she found her way here? A momentary wonder as to whether all thiswas not mixed up with telepathy and mental suggestion and all thatsort of thing came to him. Certainly he had been thinking of her allthe time since their parting at the Savoy Hotel that night threeweeks had more back . . . No, that was absurd. There must be somesounder reason for her presence. He waited for her to give it.

　　Jill for the moment felt physically incapable of giving it. Sheshrank from the interminable explanation which confronted her as aweary traveller shrinks from a dusty, far-stretching desert. Shesimply could not go into all that now. So she answered with aquestion.

　　"When did you land in New York?""This afternoon. We were supposed to dock this morning, but the boatwas late." Wally perceived that he was pushed away from the mainpoint, and jostled his way to it. "But what are you doing here?""It's such a long story."Her voice was plaintive. Remorse smote Wally. It occurred to him thathe had not been sufficiently sympathetic. Not a word had he said onthe subject of her change of fortunes. He had just stood and gapedand asked questions. After all, what the devil did it matter how shecame to be here? He had anticipated a long and tedious search for herthrough the labyrinth of New York, and here Fate had brought her tohis very door, and all he could do was to ask why, instead of beingthankful. He perceived that he was not much of a fellow.

　　"Never mind," he said. "You can tell me what you feel like it." Helooked at her eagerly. Time seemed to have wiped away that littlemisunderstanding under the burden of which they had parted. "It's toowonderful finding you like this!" He hesitated. "I heardabout--everything," he said awkwardly.

　　"My--" Jill hesitated too. "My smash?""Yes. Freddie Rooke told me. I was terribly sorry.""Thank you," said Jill.

　　There was a pause. They were both thinking of that other disasterwhich had happened. The presence of Derek Underhill seemed to standlike an unseen phantom between them. Finally Wally spoke at random,choosing the first words that came into his head in his desire tobreak the silence.

　　"Jolly place, this, isn't it?"Jill perceived that an opening for those tedious explanations hadbeen granted her.

　　"Uncle Chris thinks so," she said demurely.

　　Wally looked puzzled.

　　"Uncle Chris? Oh, your uncle?""Yes.""But--he has never been here.""Oh, yes. He's giving a dinner party here tonight!""He's . . . what did you say?""It's all right. I only began at the end of the story instead of thebeginning. I'll tell you the whole thing, then . . . then I supposeyou will be terribly angry and make a fuss.""I'm not much of a lad, as Freddie Rooke would say, for makingfusses. And I can't imagine being terribly angry with you.""Well, I'll risk it. Though, if I wasn't a brave girl, I should leaveUncle Chris to explain for himself and simply run away.""Anything is better than that. It's a miracle meeting you like this,and I don't want to be deprived of the fruits of it. Tell meanything, but don't go.""You'll be furious.""Not with you.""I should hope not with me. I've done nothing. I am the innocentheroine. But I'm afraid you will be very angry with Uncle Chris.""If he's your uncle, that passes him. Besides, he once licked thestuffing out of me with a whangee. That forms a bond. Tell me all."Jill considered. She had promised to begin at the beginning, but itwas difficult to know what was the beginning.

　　"Have you ever heard of Captain Kidd?" she asked at length.

　　"You're wandering from the point, aren't you?""No, I'm not. _Have_ you heard of Captain Kidd?""The pirate? Of course.""Well, Uncle Chris is his direct lineal descendant. That reallyexplains the whole thing."Wally looked at her enquiringly.

　　"Could you make it a little easier?" he said.

　　"I can tell you everything in half a dozen words, if you like. But itwill sound awfully abrupt.""Go ahead.""Uncle Chris has stolen your apartment."Wally nodded slowly.

　　"I see. Stolen my apartment.""Of course you can't possibly understand. I shall have to tell youthe whole thing, after all."Wally listened with flattering attention as she began the epic ofMajor Christopher Selby's doings in New York. Whatever his emotions,he certainly was not bored.

　　"So that's how it all happened," concluded Jill.

　　For a moment Wally said nothing. He seemed to be digesting what hehad heard.

　　"I see," he said at last. "It's a variant of those advertisementsthey print in the magazines. 'Why pay rent? Own somebody else'shome!'""That _does_ rather sum it up," said Jill.

　　Wally burst into a roar of laughter.

　　"He's a corker!"Jill was immensely relieved. For all her courageous bearing, she hadnot relished the task of breaking the news to Wally. She knew that hehad a sense of humor, but a man may have a sense of humor and yet notsee anything amusing in having his home stolen in his absence.

　　"I'm so glad you're not angry.""Of course not.""Most men would be.""Most men are chumps.""It's so wonderful that it happened to be you. Suppose it had been anutter stranger! What could I have done?""It would have been the same thing. You would have won him over intwo minutes. Nobody could resist you.""That's very sweet of you.""I can't help telling the truth. Washington was just the same.""Then you don't mind Uncle Chris giving his dinner-party heretonight?""He has my blessing.""You really are an angel," said Jill gratefully. "From what he said,I think he looks on it as rather an important function. He hasinvited a very rich woman, who has been showing him a lot ofhospitality,--a Mrs Peagrim . . .""Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim?""Yes? Why, do you know her?""Quite well. She goes in a good deal for being Bohemian and knowingpeople who write and paint and act and so on. That reminds me. I gaveFreddie Rooke a letter of introduction to her.""Freddie Rooke!""Yes. He suddenly made up his mind to come over. He came to me foradvice about the journey. He sailed a couple of days before I did. Isuppose he's somewhere in New York by now, unless he was going on toFlorida. He didn't tell me what his plans were."Jill was conscious of a sudden depression. Much as she liked Freddie,he belonged to a chapter in her life which was closed and which shewas trying her hardest to forget. It was impossible to think ofFreddie without thinking of Derek, and to think of Derek was liketouching an exposed nerve. The news that Freddie was in New Yorkshocked her. New York had already shown itself a city of chanceencounters. Could she avoid meeting Freddie?

　　She knew Freddie so well. There was not a dearer or a better-heartedyouth in the world, but he had not that fine sensibility which pilotsa man through the awkwardnesses of life. He was a blunderer. Instincttold her that, if she met Freddie, he would talk of Derek, and, ifthinking of Derek was touching an exposed nerve, talking of him wouldlike pressing on that nerve with a heavy hand. She shivered.

　　Wally was observant.

　　"There's no need to meet him, if you don't want to," he said.

　　"No," said Jill doubtfully.

　　"New York's a large place. By the way," he went on, "to return oncemore to the interesting subject of my lodger, does your uncle sleephere at nights, do you know?"Jill looked at him gratefully. He was no blunderer. Her desire toavoid Freddie Rooke was, he gave her tacitly to understand, herbusiness, and he did not propose to intrude on it. She liked him fordismissing the subject so easily.

　　"No, I think he told me he doesn't.""Well, that's something, isn't it! I call that darned nice of him! Iwonder if I could drop back here somewhere about eleven o'clock. Arethe festivities likely to be over by then? If I know Mrs Peagrim, shewill insist on going off to one of the hotels to dance directly afterdinner. She's a confirmed trotter.""I don't know how to apologize," began Jill remorsefully.

　　"Please don't. It's absolutely all right." His eye wandered to themantelpiece, as it had done once or twice during the conversation. Inher hurry Jill had replaced the snapshot with its back to the room,and Wally had the fidgety air of a man whose most cherishedpossession is maltreated. He got up now and, walking across, turnedthe photograph round. He stood for a moment, looking at it.

　　Jill had forgotten the snapshot. Curiosity returned to her.

　　"Where _did_ you get that?" she asked.

　　Wally turned.

　　"Oh, did you see this?""I was looking at it just before you nearly frightened me to death byappearing so unexpectedly.""Freddie Rooke sold it to me fourteen years ago.""Fourteen years ago!""Next July," added Wally. "I gave him five shillings for it.""Five shillings! The little brute!" cried Jill indignantly "It musthave been all the money you had in the world!""A trifle more, as a matter of fact. All the money I had in the worldwas three-and-six. But by a merciful dispensation of Providence thecurate had called that morning and left a money-box for subscriptionsto the village organ-fund . . . It's wonderful what you can do with aturn for crime and the small blade of a pocket-knife! I don't think Ihave ever made money quicker!" He looked at the photograph again.

　　"Not that it seemed quick at the moment. I died at least a dozenagonizing deaths in the few minutes I was operating. Have you evernoticed how slowly time goes when you are coaxing a shilling and asixpence out of somebody's money-box? Centuries! But I wasforgetting. Of course you've had no experience.""You poor thing!""It was worth it.""And you've had it ever since!""I wouldn't part with it for all Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim's millions,"said Wally with sudden and startling vehemence, "if she offered methem." He paused. "She hasn't, as a matter of fact."There was a silence. Jill looked at Wally furtively, as he returnedto his seat. She was seeing him with new eyes. It was as if thistrifling incident had removed some sort of a veil. He had suddenlybecome more alive. For an instant she had seen right into him, to thehidden deeps of his soul. She felt shy and embarrassed.

　　"Pat died," she said, at length. She felt the necessity of sayingsomething.

　　"I liked Pat.""He picked up some poison, poor darling . . . How long ago those daysseem, don't they!""They are always pretty vivid to me. I wonder who has that old houseof yours now.""I heard the other day," said Jill more easily. The odd sensation ofembarrassment was passing. "Some people called . . . what was thename? . . . Debenham, I think."Silence fell again. It was broken by the front-door bell, like analarm-clock that shatters a dream.

　　Wally got up.

　　"Your uncle," he said.

　　"You aren't going to open the door?""That was the scheme.""But he'll get such a shock when he sees you.""He must look on it in the light of rent. I don't see why I shouldn'thave a little passing amusement from this business."He left the room. Jill heard the front door open. She waitedbreathlessly. Pity for Uncle Chris struggled with the sterner feelingthat it served him right.

　　"Hullo!" she heard W............