"You seem to have been all over the world, Tim," said Philip, when the Irishman stopped for breath, "it's queer I never knocked up against you." "Why, you never stayed one day in one place. That boat of yours is a kind of Flying Dutchman." "Not a bit of it; she has doubled the Cape lots of times. I was just trying to persuade Peter to take a cruise with me." "I am seriously thinking of the advisability of doing so," observed Peter, judiciously selecting his words. "Are you, indeed, Mr. Lindley Murray. Well, if Philip asks me, I'll come too." "Will you really, Tim?" asked Philip, eagerly. "Of course I will. There's no war on at present, and I'm not busy. If those squabbling South American Republics don't come to blows again, I'll be free for six months, more or less." "Then come with me, by all means." "I tell you what," observed Peter, who had been thinking; "Jack, if he turns up at all, will have travelled home from South America. Let us take him back in Philip's yacht." "That's not a bad idea anyhow," from Tim, patting Peter's head, a familiarity much resented by the family physician. "You've got brains under this bald spot." "I am quite agreeable, provided Jack turns up," said Sir Philip, yawning; "but it is now eight o'clock, and I'm hungry. It's no use waiting any longer for Jack, so I vote we have dinner." "He'll arrive in the middle of it," said Grench, as Cassim touched the bell. "Jack was never in time, or Tim either." "Don't be taking away my character, you mosquito," cried Tim, playfully, "or I'll put you on the top of the bookcase there. It's a mighty little chap you are, Peter!" "Well, we can't all be giants!" retorted Peter, resentfully. "I'm tall enough for what I want to do." "Collecting butterflies! You don't know the value of time, sir. Come along with me to the dining-room." And, in spite of Peter's struggles, he picked him up like a baby, and carried him as far as the study door. Indeed, he would have carried him into the dining-room had not the presence of the servant restrained him. Tim had no idea of the dignity of the medical profession. The servant intimated that dinner was ready, so the three friends sat down to the meal rather regretting that Jack was not present to complete the quartette. Just as they finished their soup the servant announced-- "Mr. Duval!" Simultaneously the three sprang up from the table, and on looking towards the door beheld a tall young fellow, arrayed in tweeds, standing on the threshold. "Jack!" they cried, rushing towards him with unbounded delight. "Jack Duval!" "My dear boys," said Jack, his voice shaking with emotion; "my dear old friends." CHAPTER II. THE DEVIL STONE.