"Has Mr. Bromley Gibberts arrived yet?" he asked, without preliminary
talk.

"Yes, sir," answered the man.

"Is he in his room?"

"No, sir. He has just come down, after dressing, and is in the drawing-
room.

"I must see him at once," gasped Shorely. "It is a matter of life and
death. Take me to the drawing-room."

The man, in some bewilderment, led him to the door of the drawing-room,
and Shorely heard the sound of laughter from within. Thus ever are
comedy and tragedy mingled. The man threw the door open, and Shorely
entered. The sight he beheld at first dazzled him, for the room was
brilliantly lighted. He saw a number of people, ladies and gentlemen,
all in evening dress, and all looking towards the door, with
astonishment in their eyes. Several of them, he noticed, had copies of
the _Sponge_ in their hands. Bromley Gibberts stood before the
fire, and was very evidently interrupted in the middle of a narration.

"I assure you," he was saying, "that is the only way by which a story
of the highest class can be sold to a London editor."

He stopped as he said this, and turned to look at the intruder. It was
a moment or two before he recognised the dapper editor in the
bedraggled individual who stood, abashed, at the door.