In going over his accounts he suddenly came across the name of Faynie Fairfax.

The pen fell from his fingers and he brushed his hand over his brow.

“What a strangely familiar ring that name has to me!” he muttered, “but I cannot imagine who it can be.  Her checks seem to be paid in here.  I must remember to notice who she is when next she comes to this window.”

Life had dropped into the same old groove again for Lester Armstrong, the only difference in the routine of his daily life being that he was not obliged to take his daily trips to Beechwood any more, for the reason that his employer, Mr. Marsh, had taken up his residence in the city again.

But in less than a fortnight another event happened.

Mr. Marsh died suddenly, and to the great surprise of every one, Lester Armstrong was named as his sole heir.  At first the young man was dumfounded.  He could not believe the evidence of his own senses, when first the news was conveyed to him.

The papers contained columns concerning the young man’s wonderful luck.  Those who knew Lester Armstrong said the great fortune which had come to him would not spoil him.

There was one who read this account with amazed eyes, and that was Halloran.

“Great God!” he muttered, his hands shaking, his teeth chattering.  “Kendale told me that Armstrong was taken to the hospital in a precarious condition and died there.”

He made all haste to Kendale’s lodgings.  The latter, who was still masquerading under the name of Lester Armstrong, had been on a continuous spree ever since the night he had wedded the little beauty, and Halloran had let him take his course, saying to himself that there was plenty of time in the future to carry out their scheme.

For once he found Kendale partially sober.  He knew by Halloran’s face that something out of the usual order of events had transpired.

“What is the matter?” he cried; “what’s up now?”

For answer Halloran laid the paper before him, pointing to the column, remarking, grimly: 

“The game’s up now, and we’ve gone through all this trouble for nothing.  Your cousin, Lester Armstrong, is not dead, but instead is alive and well.”

The papers which contained the account gave another bit of unfortunate information, stating that Lester Armstrong had suffered from loss of memory since he had received the fall on that fatal night.

“Well,” said Halloran, as his friend laid down the paper, “you see, the game’s up.”

“By no means,” exclaimed Kendale, perfectly sober by this time.  “It’s a poor rule that won’t work both ways,” he added, excitedly.

“I don’t understand your cause for rejoicing,” returned Halloran, gloomily.

“Don’t you?” cried Kendale.  “Then let me make it clear to you.  We not only have one fortune through the girl that I tied myself to, and can, as her husband, collect all in good time, but with a little strategy I can come in for the Marsh millions.  We can decoy Armstrong into a coach, and let the world find out his fate after that if it can.  I will coolly take his place, just as I did in that other affair, and who is there to question that I am not he.”