How Sir Albert came by his title was a problem left in decent obscurity. Much was said of the magnificence of his life in England, his rococo palace not quite in Park Lane, his pantomime splendours at Prior’s Colney--the ball-room which was in the lake, and the dining-room which was panelled in silver. The knowing reader could divine that Sir Albert had lived not only blatantly but hard and fast. “Yah,” said Reggie Fortune. Just as he was putting on his coat, Sam arrived with a photograph of Sir Albert, and Reggie sat down to it. A plump man of middle height, rather loudly dressed; a long, heavy face, rather like a horse’s, but with protruding eyes--commonplace enough. It was only the expression which made Reggie examine the fellow more closely. Under the photographic smirk was a look of insolence and conceit of singular force. The man who owned that would never allow any creature a right against him. Behold the secret of Sir Albert Lunt’s success. And “Oh, Peter, I don’t wonder some one murdered the animal,” said Reggie. “Justifiable porcicide.” On which he went off to dinner with his sister, who had married a man in the Treasury, and gave him the pleasant somnolent evening you would expect. When he came back there were two telegrams waiting for him. Number one: “Was called in to Lunt case. Desire consult you. Lady Lunt also anxious your opinion.--GERALD BARNES.” Number two: “Desire consult you Lunt case. Please see me Prior’s Colney morning.--LOMAS.” Reggie whistled. “Let ’em all come,” said he. Gerald Barnes had been house surgeon when Reggie was surgical registrar at St. Simon’s Hospital, and had gone into practice somewhere in Buckinghamshire. The Hon. Stanley Lomas was the head of the Criminal Investigation Department. “Have they had a scrap?” Reggie smiled to himself. “Lots of zeal at Prior’s Colney. Sam! The car after breakfast. We’ll go and see life.” And he went to bed. But in the morning, just as he was finishing breakfast, he was told that Nurse Dauntsey wanted to see him and said it was most urgent. Nurse Dauntsey was at St. Simon’s Hospital and had a partiality for Reggie, who (quite paternally) liked her for being gentle and kindly and pretty. A trim figure, a pair of honest grey eyes, a wholesome complexion, and an engaging red mouth were the best of Nurse Dauntsey’s charms, but there was a simplicity about her which commended them. “Types of English Beauty.--Third Prize, Nurse Dauntsey,” somebody said once. And it was felt to be just. On this morning Nurse Dauntsey’s nice face was troubled, and she had lost her usual calm. “Oh, Mr. Fortune, will you help me?” She rushed at Reggie. “It’s the Lunt case.” “Now what in wonder have you to do with the Lunt case?” Nurse Dauntsey blushed. “I’m engaged, Mr. Fortune,” she said. “Well, he’s a very lucky man. And I hope you’re a lucky girl.”