'Mary, when I was here last you spoke of somebody who you seemed to think had been masquerading as me. Fitz, your remarks apparently point in the same direction. What does this person call himself?'

'He calls himself the Marquis of Twickenham--when he's not James Merrett.'

'Is that meant to be funny? Because, if so, take my advice, and don't try to be humorous in a wrong key. Where does he live?'

'His address is Twickenham House, St. James's Square--when it's not Little Olive Street.'

'More humour? Pretty soon I'll give you leave to get in all the laughter you have handy. You come right away along with yours truly, and we'll interview the gentleman who's pretending to be me.'

'He's not pretending to be you; he's pretending that he isn't you.'

'That so? We'll investigate his pretensions anyhow. You just come right along.'

Mr. FitzHoward stared.

'What new caper's this?'

'It's a caper that's going to show you just where the laugh comes in, if you're ready.'

'James, you're not going to leave us?'

'You have tea upon that table at five o'clock; a good tea, mind; and I'll be back for it; back for good. There seems to be some little game going on over in St. James's Square which I'm going to take a hand at.

You remember my telling you about a man Jones saw who might have sat for me? Looks as if he had come to life again, and was making trouble.

Now trouble of that kind is a thing I don't mean to have come into the life which, from this time forward, you and I are going to live together. So I'm going along with Fitz till tea-time to see that it don't.'

As the two men went side by side along the pavement, Mr. FitzHoward kept glancing at his companion as if he found something about him which was not only strange but altogether beyond his comprehension.

Presently he asked a question.

'Well! What's the game now?'

'The game?' Mr. Merrett regarded the other with a glance of innocent inquiry. 'That's what I'm after; that's what I'm going to find out--what the game is.'

They went some little distance before Mr. FitzHoward ventured on another remark.

'You have a face!'

'I hope so. I hope you have one too--even if it's not such an ornament as mine.'

'Ornament!'

Mr. FitzHoward emitted a sigh which might have been intended to mark the interjection. Mr. Merrett hailed a pa.s.sing cab.

'Drive us to Twickenham House, St. James's Square. Now, Fitz, in you jump.'

That gentleman appeared to hesitate:

'Look here. I don't know what your game is, you're beyond me altogether, but don't you go kicking me out when we get there.'

'Kicking you? Out of what? The cab?'

'No, my Lord Marquis; out of your palatial abode. Because, if you do, this time there'll be trouble.'

'Fitz, would you do me the favour to step into that cab, and don't talk as if you had been let out of a lunatic asylum before your time?'

Thus adjured, Mr. FitzHoward did as he was requested. As the cab bowled along he continued to regard his companion with glances which were brimful of curiosity. But nothing was said. The cab reached Twickenham House. When Mr. Merrett got out he looked the building up and down.

'This the place?'

'Oh, yes, this is the place.'

'Don't look extra lively, does it? As if they kept a funeral on the premises. Nodding plumes out of every window would give a finishing touch. A bit too much in the big bow-wow style to suit me.'

'It does take a big man to properly fill it, as perhaps you found.'

'I found? Fitz, you're a fair treat. You'd better take something for it before it goes too far.'

Mr. Merrett sounded a salute on the knocker and the bell. The door flew open. A powdered footman stood within.

'Marquis of Twickenham at home?'

'His lordship is----' the footman began, then stopped to stare. 'I beg pardon, I----' The man stopped again.

'Well? Get it out! You thought what! For pains in the back try Jujah!'

'I beg your lordship's pardon. I thought your lordship was engaged. I wasn't aware your lordship was out.'

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

THE TWINKLE IN THE FATHER'S EYES

Mr. Merrett looked the man very straight in the face; as if he suspected him of an intention to be humorous.

'Not so much "your lordship" about it, if you please. Is it the old complaint? Try a bushel of pills before breakfast and a scuttleful at lunch. A young man with a pair of legs like yours ought to have more sense. He did really. For goodness gracious sake don't be a fool just because you look it. Try to behave as if you'd left your face at home.

Did you hear me ask if the Marquis of Twickenham is at home, or are you deaf both back and front?'

The footman plainly did not know what to make of the position.

'Your lordship----'

Mr. Merrett sprang up the steps. 'Look here, you perambulating cauliflower, if you give me any more of "your lordship" I'll dot you upon the frontispiece. Are you the only fool about the place? Or isn't there any one who can give a civil answer to a civil question?'

Another footman advanced. Behind him the venerable Mr. Gayer. Both stared with unmistakable surprise at Mr. Merrett. He returned them stare for stare.

'Well? The charge for this entertainment is generally one shilling, but really good-looking men are admitted free. Do you both of you want a pa.s.s, upon your faces?'