"And this was the reason you sent me word to lock myself up on the
_Cypriani_? You're a bird, Peter. Not that it made any difference, but I
ventured to suppose that my leaving before you got back would interfere
with some plans you had been making for me, and--"

"It would interfere with some plans I have been making for you, in a
general way, to have you assassinated."

"Stuff. Ten to one all these stories that somebody has been so careful
to have get back to you are right out of the whole cloth--"

"What's the use of setting up your cranky opinions against the hard
facts? The plain truth is that everybody who ever heard of Stanhope is
going to give you the cold shoulder for a dog; we can depend absolutely
on that."

But Varney had his own reasons for depending on nothing of the sort.

"You've been imposed upon, Peter. In fact, one of the population mistook
me for the author last night, and instead of giving me the cold
shoulder, as you say, she seemed to think that being Stanhope was the
best credentials that a man could have."

"She? Who're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Uncle Elbert's daughter, Miss Mary Carstairs. I had
the pleasure of meeting her last night."

"The devil you did!" cried Peter, laughing with astonishment. "You
certainly walk off with the prize for prompt results. How in the world