A year's rent in advance is always tempting to a landlord--especially a poor one. McTavish was not rich, whatever might be his prospects in regard to the presidency of the bank.

His wife would have given something to have had his ear at the opposite orifice of the keyhole; so that she could have whispered "Take it?"

"How much, you ask, for the house furnished, and by the year?"

"Precisely so," answered the stranger.

"Let me see," answered McTavish, reflecting. "My own rent unfurnished-- repairs covenanted in the lease--price of the furniture--interest thereon--well, I could say two hundred pounds per annum."

"I'll take it at two hundred. Do you agree to that?"

The bank clerk was electrified with delight. Two hundred pounds a year would be cent-per-cent on his own outlay. Besides he would get rid of the premises, for at least one year, and along with them the proximity of his detestable neighbours. Any sacrifice to escape from this.

He would have let go house and grounds at half the price.

But he, the stranger, was not cunning, and McTavish was shrewd. Seeing this, he not only adhered to the two hundred, but stipulated for the removal of some portion of his furniture.

"Only a few family pieces," he said; "things that a tenant would not care to be troubled with."

The stranger was not exacting, and the concession was made.

"Your name, sir?" asked the tenant intending to go out.

"Swinton," answered the tenant who designed coming in. "Richard Swinton. Here is my card, Mr McTavish; and my reference is Lord --."

The bank clerk took the card into his trembling fingers. His wife, on the other side of the door, had a sensation in her ear resembling an electric shock.

A tenant with a lord--a celebrated lord--for his referee!

She could scarce restrain herself from shouting through the keyhole:

"Close with him, Mac!"

But Mac needed not the admonition. He had already made up his mind to the letting.

"How soon do you wish to come in?" he asked of the applicant.

"As soon as possible," was the answer. "To-morrow, if convenient to you."

"To-morrow?" echoed the cool Scotchman, unaccustomed to such quick transactions, and somewhat surprised at the proposal.

"I own it's rather unusual," said the incoming tenant. "But, Mr McTavish, I have a reason for wishing it so. It's somewhat delicate; but as you are a married man, and the father of a family,--you understand?"

"Perfectly!" pronounced the Scotch _paterfamilias_, his breast almost turning as tender as that of his better half then sympathetically throbbing behind the partition door.

The sudden transfer was agreed to. Next day Mr McTavish and his family moved out, Mr Swinton having signed the agreement, and given a cheque for the year's rent in advance--scarce necessary after being endorsed by such a distinguished referee.

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

A DRESS REHEARSAL.

The revolutionary leader who had taken up his residence _vis-a-vis_ to the McTavish villa, and whose politics were so offensive to its royal lessee, was no other than the ex-dictator of Hungary.

The new tenant had been made aware of this before entering upon occupation. Not by his landlord, but the man under whose instructions he had taken the house.

The proximity of the refugee headquarters was partly the cause of Mr McTavish being so anxious to go out. It was the sole reason why Swinton had shown himself so anxious to come in!

Swinton had this knowledge, and no more. The motive for putting him in possession had not yet been revealed to him. He had been instructed to take that particular house, _coute que coute_; and he had taken it as told, at a cost of two hundred pounds.

His patron had provided him with a cheque for three hundred. Two had gone into the pocket of McTavish; the other remained in his own.

He had got installed in his new domicile; and seated with a cigar between his lips--a real Havanna--was reflecting upon the comforts that surrounded him. How different that couch, with its brocaded cover, and soft cushions, from the hard horse-hair sofa, with its flattened squab!

How unlike these luxurious chairs to the sharp skeletons of cane, his wife had reason to remember! While congratulating himself on the change of fortune, he was also bethinking him of what had led to it. He had a tolerably correct idea of _why_ he had been so favoured.

But for what purpose he had been placed in the villa, or the duty there required of him, he was still ignorant.

He could only conjecture that he had something to do with Kossuth. Of this he was almost certain.

He was not to remain long in the dark about his duties. At an interview on the morning of that day, his patron had promised to send him full instructions--by a gentleman who should "come up in the course of the evening."

Swinton was shrewd enough to have a thought as to who this gentleman would be; and it inspired him to a conversation with his wife, of a nature peculiar as confidential.

"Fan?" he said, taking the cigar from his teeth, and turning towards the couch, on which that amiable creature was reclining.

"Well; what is it?" responded she, also removing a weed from between her pretty lips, and pouting the smoke after it.

"How do you like our new lodgings, love? Better than those at Westbourne?"

"You don't want me to answer that question, Dick?"

"Oh, no. Not if you don't wish. But you needn't snap and snarl so."

"I am not snapping or snarling. It's silly of you to say so."

"Yes, everything's silly I say, or do either. I've been very silly within the last three days. To get into a cosy crib like this, with the rent paid twelve months in advance, and a hundred pounds to keep the kitchen! More to come if I mistake not. Quite stupid of me to have accomplished all this?"

Fan made no rejoinder. Had her husband closely scanned her countenance at that moment, he might have seen upon it a smile not caused by any admiration of his cleverness.

She had her own thoughts as to what and to whom he was indebted for the favourable turn in his fortunes.

"Yes; much more to come," said he, continuing the hopeful prognostic.

"In fact, Fan, our fortune's made, or will be, if you only do--"

"Do what?" she asked, seeing that he hesitated. "What do you want me to do next?"