desperate desire to know the end of it all."

"The end of it all?"

"Yes," said the Major. "`Jackals', and the title-deeds, and `Death
to Major Brown'."

The agent's face grew grave, but his eyes were amused.

"I am terribly sorry, Major," said he, "but what you ask is
impossible. I don't know any one I would sooner oblige than you;
but the rules of the agency are strict. The Adventures are
confidential; you are an outsider; I am not allowed to let you
know an inch more than I can help. I do hope you understand--"

"There is no one," said Brown, "who understands discipline better
than I do. Thank you very much. Good night."

And the little man withdrew for the last time.

He married Miss Jameson, the lady with the red hair and the green
garments. She was an actress, employed (with many others) by the
Romance Agency; and her marriage with the prim old veteran caused
some stir in her languid and intellectualized set. She always
replied very quietly that she had met scores of men who acted
splendidly in the charades provided for them by Northover, but that
she had only met one man who went down into a coal-cellar when he
really thought it contained a murderer.

The Major and she are living as happily as birds, in an absurd