"I see," Kelson observed guardedly. "Yes, I believe they are quite good
as far as they go."

The stranger gave a short laugh. "They, or rather a topping old dog-fox,
took us an eleven mile point the other day, which was good enough in that
country. Being in town I thought I would run down to this dance for old
acquaintance' sake. Dare say one will meet some old friends."

"No doubt," Kelson responded dryly.

"As you have been good enough to ask me to share your fly," the man
observed, with a rather aggressive touch of irony, "I may as well let you
know who I am. My name is Henshaw, Clement Henshaw."

"Any relation to Gervase Henshaw?" Gifford asked.

"He is my brother. You know him?"

"Only by reputation at my profession, the Bar. And I came across a book
of his the other day."

"Ah, yes. Gervase scribbles when he has time. He is by way of being an
authority on criminology."

"And is, I should say," Gifford added civilly.

"Yes; he is a smart fellow. Has the brains of the family. I'm all for
sport and the open-air life."

"And yet," thought Gifford, glancing at the dark, rather intriguing face