Mr. Augustus FitzHoward produced a bundle of tickets from his pocket there and then. I bought one, as did others--though not in such numbers as the eloquence of his remarks perhaps merited. I may safely say that had I been actuated by nothing but a desire to be the witness of what Mr. FitzHoward called an 'awe-inspiring spectacle,' I should have been no patron. It occurred to me, as it probably did to others, that the proceedings might take a form which might quite possibly prove the reverse of agreeable. As it was, I endeavoured to evade the necessity of being present. Waiting till the almost too eloquent orator had disposed of all the tickets which his auditors could be induced to buy, I accosted him. 'Look here, Mr. FitzHoward, can't you arrange an interview for me with Mr. Babbacombe?' 'I told you that if you're here to-morrow night I'll try to manage an introduction. So I will. I can't do more than that.' 'But I don't want to be here to-morrow night; at least, not in here. Can't I see him somewhere else?' 'Does he know you?' 'That is more than I can tell you.' 'Perhaps he won't want to see you if he knows who you are.' There was a twinkle in the speaker's eye. I realised the truth of his words. It was extremely probable, if it was Twickenham, and he had an inkling of who I was, that he would decline the pleasure of an interview. 'You see Mr. Babbacombe won't be altogether himself; after such an experience as he has had it's not to be expected. For reasons of health, if for no other, he won't be disposed to run the risk of more physical strain than he can possibly help.' I understood the innuendo--or thought I did. If I wished to see and speak to him, I should have to be present when he returned, in his agile associate's phrase, 'from out of the tomb.' Otherwise, before I knew it, he might vanish for another period of fifteen years. I found, at home, that something like a heated discussion was taking place. Edith and Reggie were both with Violet. What Lady Desmond would have thought of the proceedings is more than I can say. They all began at me at once. 'Douglas, what did you mean by saying last night----' Reggie had got so far when Violet cut him short. 'Reggie, let me speak. I'll get an answer out of him. Douglas, is the Marquis of Twickenham really alive?' As I might have expected, Reggie had scarcely been five minutes in Violet's society before he blurted out all that I had said to him. She certainly is an insinuating young woman, and shrewd to boot. It would not take her long to perceive that there was something at the back of the young gentleman's mind. Having surmised so much, almost before he knew it, she would have ascertained what it was. Apparently Edith had come in at the very moment when explanations were taking place. So that now I had all three of them against me. 'Will you please tell me at once, Douglas, if the Marquis of Twickenham is alive?'