"No, no," cried Stratton excitedly, "don't trust them. Get the bouquet, and take it yourself. Don't come back. I'll meet you at the church." "All right, old chap. Your slave obeys. Only, I say, I would have a duet--S. and B.--before I started. Screw up, and don't come with a face like that." The speaker went to the door, opened it, and looking round laughingly: "Precious dull; I'll tell 'em to turn on the sun," he said, and hurried out. As the outer door closed Stratton darted to the inner and shut it, while, as he turned, his unwelcome visitor stepped out of the bath room--evidently formerly a passage leading into the next chamber--and returned to his chair, "Best man--bouquets--carriages waiting--church-- wedding breakfast," he said laughingly. "By Jove! I could drink a tumbler of champagne." By this time Stratton had grown firmer, and, pointing to the door, he cried: "Look here, sir; I'll have no more of this. You are an impostor. I don't know where you obtained your information, but if you have come to levy blackmail on the strength of such a mad tale, you have failed; so go." "To my wife?" "To the police-station if you dare to threaten me. Look here: James Barron, otherwise James Dale, died two years ago." "Then he has come to life again, that's all," said the man coolly. "Now, look here, you; I've not come to quarrel. I call on you, and of course it must be just dampening at such a time, but, you see, I had no option. It wasn't likely that--be cool, will you? Let that poker rest!" He spoke savagely, and took a revolver from a hip pocket. "I say it wasn't likely that you would be pleased to see me, and I'm not surprised at your crying impostor, because, as I well enough know, the papers said I was dead, and for the past two years my beautiful little wife has worn her widow's weeds." Stratton made a gesture to start forward, but the man sat back in his chair and raised the pistol. "I'm a very good shot," he said coolly. "Be quiet and listen. I'm an impostor, am I? I was not married to Myra Jerrold, I suppose, directly after the old man had taken her for a continental tour with pretty, merry little Edie Perrin. Bless her--sweet little girl! I'd rather have had her if she had possessed Myra's money. It's all right, my dear sir. I can give you chapter and verse, and commas and full stops, too, if you want satisfying. But you do not; you know it's all true. Why don't I put in my claims? Well, there is that little unpleasantness with the police, and that is why," he continued as he toyed with the revolver. "I object to your calling them in to interfere. No, Mr Malcolm Stratton, I shall not let you call them in for more reasons than one. Ah! you begin to believe me. Let me see now, can I give you a little corroborative evidence? You don't want it, but I will. Did the admiral ever tell you what an excellent player I was at piquet?" Stratton started.