[Illustration: AT LAST HE HAD HIS CHANCE. "HOW MUCH IS IT TO THE MARBLE
ARCH?" HE ASKED.
"TUPPENCE," SHE REPLIED SOFTLY; AND THE SIMPLE WORD RANG THROUGH EVERY
FIBRE OF HIS BODY.]
[Illustration: DUSK WAS DESCENDING. HIS BACK TYRE WAS PUNCTURED, AND HE WAS
ALONE--LOST IN THE WILD MOORLAND. SUDDENLY A CHEERY YOUNG VOICE SMOTE UPON
HIS EAR: "WHAT'S UP, OLD CHAP? CAN I BE ANY USE?"]
[Illustration: "OH, I'M SO FEARFULLY SORRY!" SAID A SWEET YOUNG VOICE IN
DISTRESSED ACCENTS. AND THEN HE BECAME AWARE OF A DAINTY LITTLE FOOT AND
ANKLE COYLY PROTRUDING FROM A BLUE TROUSER ALMOST AT A LEVEL WITH HIS EYE.]
* * * * *