"By the gods!" he exclaimed, waving his hands. "Speak of the editor,
and he appears. In the name of all that's wonderful, Shorely, how did
you come here? Have your deeds at last found you out? Have they ducked
you in a horse-pond? I have just been telling my friends here how I
sold you that story, which is making the fortune of the _Sponge_.
Come forward, and show yourself, Shorely, my boy."

"I would like a word with you," stammered Shorely.

"Then, have it here," said the novelist. "They all understand the
circumstances. Come and tell them your side of the story."

"I warn you," said Shorely, pulling himself together, and addressing
the company, "that this man contemplates a dreadful crime, and I have
come here to prevent it."

Gibberts threw back his head, and laughed loudly.

"Search me," he cried. "I am entirely unarmed, and, as every one here
knows, among my best friends."

"Goodness!" said one old lady. "You don't mean to say that Channor
Chase is the scene of your story, and where the tragedy was to take
place?"

"Of course it is," cried Gibberts, gleefully. "Didn't you recognise the
local colour? I thought I described Channor Chase down to the ground,
and did I not tell you you were all my victims? I always forget some
important detail when telling a story. Don't go yet," he said, as
Shorely turned away; "but tell your story, then we will have each man's