"No, sir!" thundered Drabble. "No legal crime, if you please." "Anarchists prefer illegal murder," said Semberry, smiling grimly. "And no punishment to follow," remarked Carson, arranging his sling. "Except that of their own conscience," chimed in Olive. "No Anarchist possesses one," said Tui; at which all present burst out laughing at the expression on Dr. Drabble's face. In the midst of this merriment Miss Slarge returned with the letter and an apology. "It took me some time to find," she explained to Carson. "Listen; this is how my sister describes you. Perhaps it is better not to give it to you in my sister's own words, for her style is founded upon Dr. Johnson's, and is apt to be prolix." "Paraphrase the description Miss Slarge," said Mallow. "Mr. Carson," said Miss Slarge, glancing at the letter, "is twenty-five years of age, gentle, well-bred, not without parts, and modest." The gentleman in question clicked his heels together in quite a foreign fashion, and bowed low. Mallow noticed the continental air of the whole action, and remembered it. "He is tall, slender, elegant in shape, of a swart complexion, inherited from his mother, and his eyes and moustache are of the deepest black. He looks like an Italian." "By George, Carson! Mrs. Purcell describes you exactly," said the Major; and in his heart Mallow, who had followed the description closely, was obliged to confess that this was true. "He is delicate in health, and has a weak heart." "I know that to my cost," sighed Carson, "and a swollen hand. Does Mrs. Purcell mention that fact, yes?" "She does, Mr. Carson, and she also says that you are effeminate." "Ha, ha!" bellowed Drabble--"effeminate, eh?" Carson reddened. "And why, Miss Slarge?" "Because you wear a bracelet." "That is true enough," assented the young man; "but I can't get it off, and it has been on my wrist all my life--in fact, ever since it was placed there by my ayah." "Oh, do show us the bracelet!" cried Tui. She had a thorough woman's love for jewellery. "Bracelet, hum! bangle, India!" muttered the Major, and tugged his moustache. "Show me the bangle, Angus," said Olive, persuasively; and Mallow winced. Mr. Carson with great care, and evidently with some pain, took his arm from the sling and drew up his shirt cuff. Loosely encircling his wrist appeared a broad band of pale gold, elaborately wrought with the hideous forms of three Hindoo gods. As he displayed it, Miss Slarge read aloud the description of the ornament from her sister's letter:-- "It is a broad band of ductile gold, curiously wrought with the idol figures of the Hindoo trinity: Bramah, Siva, and Vishnu, interwoven with the sacred lotus-flower, and other heathen symbols." "Most extraordinary," said Mallow, looking at it; "good trade-mark, eh, Mr. Carson? None genuine without this device." "What do you mean, sir?" cried Carson, pulling down his sleeve with an angry jerk.