“Whom do you think I ran across in the gardens at the Pomme d’Or, Mrs. Hartsilver? Why, the young journalist, Harry Hopford. He was in high spirits, as he generally is, and told me he had been here several days, spending his holiday. When I mentioned that you were here too, he became quite excited, and said he ‘did hope’ he would have the pleasure of seeing you again. He is meeting me at the Pomme d’Or to-night. Won’t you join us? It is a Bohemian little place, but I can call for you, and I think you will be amused.” But Cora explained it would be impossible, as the friends with whom she was staying were giving a dinner party, she said, from which she could not well absent herself. “I only wish I could come,” she added with sincerity. “It would amuse me more than meeting a lot of people I don’t know, and have no particular wish to know. And I should like to see Mr. Hopford again, too. He has always been so kind.” Hopford was full of news when he met the doctor at the Pomme d’Or that evening. “Can you tell me, Johnson,” was one of his first questions, “why Captain Preston now always carries about a loaded automatic?” “I had no idea he did,” the doctor replied in surprise. “Who told you?” “Well,” Hopford answered, “I happened to find it out, and in rather a curious way. In The Mitre, off Fleet Street, the other day, I got into conversation with quite a good fellow who had served during the war. We had one or two drinks together, and then he mentioned incidentally that a Captain Preston had been his company commander. When I told him that I, too, had served under Preston, he became quite communicative. Preston seems to be a sort of hero in his eyes. He told me all that Preston did during the war--he has a fine record, Johnson--and then added: “‘They ought to put him in Ireland--he always has a loaded automatic in his pocket.’ “I inquired the reason, and he went on: “‘I can’t say, but during Henley regatta he told me to keep his pistol loaded, and a week later he took to carrying it about with him.’ “The fellow had told me he was Preston’s servant. “‘Does he expect to be attacked?’ I then asked jokingly. And he answered quite seriously, ‘Yes, I think he does.’ “‘And by whom?’ I said, becoming interested. “He looked about him, then replied under his breath: ‘I don’t know, but he told me once he had met some queer folk in China, in Shanghai, and I’ve a notion some of those folk may now be in London and have some sort of a down on him.’” “Did he say anything more?” Johnson inquired. “Yes. He said he was worried about ‘the Captain,’ thought he ought not to marry, and hinted there was a mystery of some sort about the lady he meant to marry, meaning Miss Hagerston, of course. By the way, Johnson, I suppose you read in the papers that Miss Hagerston and Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson, La Planta, and Stapleton, between them broke the bank at the Casino at Dieppe the other night?” “I didn’t read about it, but I heard about it.”