Supper being finished, Kellerman fastened the window, and, carrying the lamp, led the way to a comfortably furnished study. Here he produced cigars and put a little kettle on a spirit stove to make tea. Then, sitting opposite to his host, in a comfortable armchair, Jones began his story. He had told his infernal story so often that one might have fancied it a painful effort, even to begin. It was not. He had now an audience in touch with him. He suppressed names, or rather altered them, substituting Manchester for Rochester and Birdwood for Birdbrook. The audience did not care, it recked nothing of titles, it wanted Story--and it got it. At about one o'clock the recital was interrupted whilst tea was made, at two o'clock or a little after the tale finished. "Well?" said Jones. Kellerman was leaning back in his chair with eyes half closed, he seemed calculating something in his head. "D' you believe me?" Kellerman opened his eyes. "Of course I believe you. If you had invented all that you would be clever enough to know what your invention is worth and not hand it out to a stranger. But I doubt whether anyone else will believe you--however, that is your affair--you have given me five reels of the finest stuff, or at least the material for it, and if I ever care to use it I will fix you up a contract giving you twenty-five per cent royalties. But there's one thing you haven't given me--the denouement. I'm more than interested in that. I'm not thinking of money, I'm a film actor at heart and I want to help in the play. Say, may I help?" "How?" "Come along with you to the end, give all the assistance in my power--or even without that just watch the show. I want to see the last act for I'm blessed if I can imagine it." "I'd rather not," said Jones. "You might get to know the real names of the people I'm dealing with, and as there is a woman in the business I don't feel I ought to give her name away even to you. No. I reckon I'll pull through alone, but if you'd give me a sofa to sleep on to-night I'd be grateful. Then I can get away in the morning." Kellerman did not press the point. "I'll give you better than a sofa," he said. "There's a spare bed, and you'd better not start in the morning; give them time to cool down. Then towards evening you can make a dash. The servants here are all right, they'll think you are a friend run down from town to see me. I'll arrange all that." CHAPTER XXVIII PEBBLEMARSH At five o'clock next day, Jones, re-dressed by Kellerman in a morning coat rather the worse for wear--a coat that had been left behind at the bungalow by one of Kellerman's friends--and a dark cloth cap, took his departure from the bungalow. His appearance was frankly abominable, but quite distinct from the appearance of a man dressed in a grey flannel tennis coat and wearing a Panama--and that was the main point. Kellerman had also worked up a history and personality for the newly attired one. "You are Mr. Isaacson," said he.