"One of the very best. But won't you drink up your ginger beer, sir, and partake of some more? We must rejoice at Christmas time." "I'll rejoice when I return," said Osip; then rose unexpectedly, and buttoned up his threadbare overcoat. "Meanwhile, I'll stroll through the town and inspect the shops." "Be sure you look into the butcher's window," screamed Mrs. Dumps, as he passed out, "he being my nephew by his mother's side." Osip made no reply, but vanished into the night, as Mrs. Dumps fluttered back to the bar, to charm fresh customers. A clouded sky revealed neither moon nor stars, but the hard snow emitted a kind of sepulchral radiance, which created a luminous atmosphere. By an odd inversion the light seemed to come from below, instead of being shed from above, as usual, and the effect was weird in the extreme. Walking towards the red-brick mansion, Osip pondered over what he had heard from the chattering landlady, and congratulated himself on securing information, while not appearing to seek for the same. Opposite the Georgian mansion, he halted for a few seconds, and, as there appeared to be no one about, he made up his mind to venture into the grounds. Noiselessly opening the gate, he skirted the leafless hedge, and reached the side of the house. Here he found two French windows, giving on to a miniature terrace. The blinds were not down, nor were the curtains drawn, so the lamp-light poured forth across the snow in a gleaming stream. Osip cautiously peered in, and beheld Jerce talking to a pretty young girl, whom he took to be Clarice Baird. Without hesitation, he pressed his ear against the wall, and listened with all his ears. CHAPTER II AN ADVENTURE "I am extremely puzzled," said Dr. Jerce, scratching his plump chin with his right fore-finger--a favourite gesture of his. "Oh!--a clever man like you." "Ah-a,--what pleasant feminine flattery." "The truth. You are celebrated." "Humph! So is a charlatan, if he advertises himself sufficiently." "Charlatans don't cure people as you do, doctor,--nor can they ever hope to be knighted, like someone I know." "Well," answered the stout man, again tickling his chin. "I am not so sure of that. Humbug often succeeds, where merit fails. Perhaps," his little black eyes twinkled, "perhaps that is why I can look forward to being Sir Daniel Jerce." The girl looked closely into his bland face. "A charlatan would never confess to being puzzled." "In this case," Jerce shrugged, and resumed a quarter-deck walk in the long drawing-room, "the Archangel Gabriel would be puzzled." "What can be the matter with Uncle Henry?" observed his listener, pensively. "Ask the Archangel Gabriel, Miss Baird." "Miss Baird?" Like a woman her train of thought switched up a siding. Jerce coloured all over his large waxen face, and he gulped with embarrassment. "Of course, I have known you since you were a little girl," he began, awkwardly, "but----" She cut him short. "Then why not call me Clarice?"