When he parted from Jean McNabb after the coasting party, Wentworth
proceeded to the railway station, where he purchased his ticket and
arranged with a truckman to call for his trunk at exactly eight
o'clock. Hastening to the hotel, he dressed for dinner.

This accomplished, he carefully locked his door, removed the coat from
his trunk, concealed it within the folds of his own overcoat, and sat
down to smoke a cigarette as he went over, step by step, his hastily
conceived plan. When the hands of his watch indicated that he would be
precisely fifteen minutes late, he left the hotel, carrying the
overcoat upon his arm.

The street into which he turned was deserted, and proceeding to a point
opposite the Campbell residence, he stepped behind a huge maple tree
and surveyed the brilliantly lighted house across the way.

"They're late getting started. I hope they are not waiting on my
account," he grinned, and drew closer into the shadow of the trees as a
lone pedestrian passed along the opposite sidewalk. Faintly to his
ears came the sound of laughter, and then there was a general exodus
toward the dining room. With a sigh of relief, Wentworth crossed the
street, rang the doorbell, and was admitted.

"That you, Captain Wentworth?" called his hostess. "We waited for you
until just this minute."

"Awfully sorry to be late--detestable thing to do--going away in the
morning--thousand-and-one things to attend to--be down in a moment to
offer humble apology."