"Labe! stop! stop!" pleaded the housekeeper. "You--My soul! it's Mr.

Hungerford."

It was what there was left of Mr. Hungerford. Mr. Ginn extended the disheveled, whimpering remnant at arm's length and regarded it.

"Humph!" he grunted. "You know him, do you?"

"Know him! Of course I do. But--but I must say--"

Captain Dan came tearing down the stairs, his bathrobe fluttering and a slipper missing. In one hand he held a pair of scissors, the only offensive weapon which he had found available at the moment.

"What in blazes?" he demanded. "Burglars, is it?"

Gertrude answered. "No, Daddy," she said gravely. "It's no one but Cousin Percy. And--and Mr. Ginn. Why, Mr. Ginn, is--is it you?"

Laban nodded. "It's me, all right," he observed grimly. "Who the devil is this? That's what I want to know."

Daniel turned to the captive.

"Why--why, Percy!" he gasped. "What--what's happened to you? Let go of him, Labe Ginn! Percy Hungerford, what--what's all this?"

Mr. Hungerford, suddenly freed from the grasp upon his torn shirt collar, staggered against the wall.

"It's--it's a mistake," he panted. "I--I--this--this blackguard a.s.saulted me. I--I--"

"a.s.saulted you! I should say he had. Labe Ginn, what did you a.s.sault him for?"

Mr. Ginn glared at his victim.

"Blackguard, am I?" he growled. "Humph! Well, if he starts to callin' me names, I'll--"

"Belay! Answer me! What have you been doin' to him? Look at him! What do you mean by a.s.saultin' him that way?"

"What do I mean? When a man comes home from sea and finds another man kissin' his wife, what would he be likely to mean?"

Daniel could not answer. He looked about him in absolute bewilderment.

Gertrude choked and turned away.

"Kissin'!" repeated Captain Dan. "Kissin' your wife? Kissin' ZUBA!

I--I--am I crazy, or are you, or--or is he?"

Apparently he judged the last surmise to be the most likely. Cousin Percy, frantic with rage and humiliation, tried to protest.

"It's a lie!" he cried. "It's a lie!"

The captain turned to his housekeeper.

"Zuba," he demanded, "what sort of lunatic business is this? Do you know?"

Azuba straightened.

"I don't know much," she announced sharply. "All I know is that I come upstairs in the dark and he grabbed me and--and said somethin' about my payin' him--and then he--he--done the other thing. That's all I know, and it's enough. Don't talk to ME! I never was so surprised and mortified in MY life."

"But--but what's it mean? Can't anybody tell me, for the Lord sakes?"

Gertrude stepped forward. "I think I understand," she said. "Our cousin made a mistake, that's all. I will explain at another time, Daddy.

If--if you will all go away, he and I will have an interview. I think I can settle it better than anyone else. Go, please. I'm sure Mother needs you."

The mention of his wife caused her father to forget everything else, even his overwhelming curiosity.

"My soul!" he cried. "She heard this; and--and I left her all alone."

He bolted up the stairs. Gertrude's next remark was addressed to the housekeeper.

"Azuba," she said, "would you and your husband mind leaving us? Perhaps you'd better not go to bed. I--I may need Mr. Ginn later on; perhaps I may. But if you and he were to go down to the kitchen and wait just a few moments I should be so much obliged. Will you?"

Azuba hesitated.

"Leave you?" she repeated. "With--with him?"

"Yes. I have something to say to him. Something important."

She and Azuba exchanged looks. The latter nodded.

"All right," she said decisively; "course we'll go. Come, Labe."

But Laban seemed loath to move.

"I ain't got through with him yet," he observed. "I'd only begun."

"You come with me. Have you forgot all I told you so soon? Come!"

"Hey? No; no, I ain't forgot. Is this part of it?"

"Part of it's part of it; the rest ain't. You come, 'fore you do any more spilin'. Come, now."

Mr. Ginn went. At the head of the back stairs he paused.

"You'll sing out if you need me?" he asked. "You will, won't you? You'll only have to sing once."

He tramped heavily down. Gertrude walked over to the victim of the "mistake" and its consequences.

"I think," she said coldly, "that you had better go."

"Go?" Mr. Hungerford looked at her. "Go?" he repeated.

"Yes. I give you this opportunity. There will not be another. Go to your room, change your clothes, pack your trunk, and go--now, to-night."

"What do you mean? That I am to go--and not come back?"