The chief warder placed his spectacles upon his nose, where they seemed uneasy, and made quite a business of signing. And such was Warder Slater's agitation, that he could scarcely sign at all. But at last the "testimonial" was complete. The prisoner smiled as he carefully folded it in two. "I will convey it to Colonel Gregory," he said. "It is a gratification to me to have been able to retrieve my character in so short a space of time." They watched him--a little spellbound, perhaps; and as they watched him, even before their eyes--behold, he was gone! TWINS! CHAPTER I. THE FIRST LADY. "Mrs. And Miss Danvers." Mr. Herbert Buxton, standing at the office window of the hotel, glancing at the visitors' book on the desk at his right, saw the names among the latest arrivals. They caught his eye. "Pontresina" was stated to be the place from which they had lately come. "It is _the_ Danvers, for a fiver--Cecil's Danvers." Strolling from the office window, he took a letter--a frayed letter--from his pocket-book. It was post-marked "Pontresina." The signature was "Cecil Buxton"--it was from his brother. "Dear Hubert," it ran, "you really must get something to do! Your request for what you call an advance is absurd. So far from advancing you anything I shall have to cut short the allowance I have been making you. I have met here a Mrs. and Miss Danvers. I have asked Miss Danvers to do me the honour to marry me. She has consented. When that event comes to pass--which will be very shortly--your allowance will recede to a vanishing point. That you will get something to do is, therefore, the advice of your affectionate brother, Cecil Buxton." "It would be an odd coincidence," reflected Hubert, "if that Miss Danvers is this Miss Danvers." An idea occurred to his fertile--too fertile--brain. As the first glimmerings of the idea burst on him, Hubert smiled. In giving birth to Cecil and Hubert Buxton, Nature had been indulging in one of her freaks. They were twins--born within a few seconds of each other. Cecil came first. Hubert came, with all possible expedition, immediately after. Babies are proverbially alike. These babies were so much alike that, when they were undressed, no one ever pretended to be able to tell one from the other. The resemblance outlived babyhood. As the years went on, Cecil was always being taken for Hubert, Hubert for Cecil. The unfortunate part of the business was that the resemblance was merely superficial. Inside, they were altogether different. Cecil was solid and steady, while Hubert--well, at that particular moment he was quartered at that fashionable Bournemouth hotel, without money in his pocket with which to pay his hotel bill, and with nobody within reach from whom he could borrow a five-pound note. "If," he told himself, "_this_ Danvers is that Danvers, I might make something out of that fatal likeness after all."