But Mr. P. Foreman would not touch the garment. "If you insist," he said, "you must go through the formality yourself. I should be ashamed to have a hand in it." "You are a good fellow, after all," said Arthur, with a great sigh of relief. Will you have a glass of champagne?" "Thank you," said Mr. P. Foreman. Arthur filled two glasses. "Your health," he said. "Your health," said Mr. P. Foreman. "Allow me to wish you joy and happiness." "Now you shall see," said Arthur, in a gay tone. "Come a little nearer; I might be a master of legerdemain." A melancholy smile crossed Mr. P. Foreman's mouth, and he stood, apparently unconcerned, while Arthur turned out the pockets of his waistcoat and trousers. "Nothing there," he said. "Nothing there," said Mr. P. Foreman, and again moved towards the door. "Stop a moment," said Arthur, "there is my coat." He turned out the pockets upon the table; from the breast pocket he produced the bank notes he had received from his friend, Jack Stevens; from the tail pockets a handkerchief and gloves. Nothing more. He laughed aloud, and lifted the handkerchief from the table. The laugh was frozen in his throat. As he lifted the handkerchief there fell from it a jewelled brooch, the device a stile of gold, with three birds perched thereon, one of sapphires, one of rubies, one of brilliants. "My God!" he gasped, and sank into a chair. Mr. P. Foreman did not break the silence that ensued. With sad eyes he gazed upon the crushing evidence of guilt. At length Arthur found his voice. "You do not, you cannot," he cried in an agonised tone, "believe me guilty!" Mr. P. Foreman uttered no word. Arthur's face was like the face of death. A vision of his ruined life rose before him, and in that vision the image of his fair young bride, stricken with despair. "What am I to do?" moaned the unhappy man. "What am I to do? As I hope for mercy in heaven, I swear that I am innocent!" Mr. P. Foreman in silence pointed to the brooch on the table. It was an eloquent sign, but he seemed to sympathise with the hapless man before him. Arthur rose to his feet, trembling in every limb. "Have mercy upon me!" he murmured, stretching forth his hands. "Before God I am innocent!" "I am sorry for the young lady," said Mr. P. Foreman, "deeply, deeply sorry. I have a daughter of my own, whom I hope one day to see happily married. But she is in delicate health." [Illustration: "HE GASPED, AND SANK INTO A CHAIR."] There was a plaintiveness in his voice, and Arthur, overwhelmed as he was, caught at the despairing hope which presented itself to his distracted mind. He and the man who held his fate in his hands were alone; there were no witnesses, and not a sound reached them from house or street. "Save me!" implored Arthur. "As you hope for your daughter's happiness, save an innocent man--save an innocent girl from despair and death!" Mr. P. Foreman put his hands before his eyes. "My duty!" he murmured.