At that moment the ambulance wagon rattled up to the door.  In another instant the two attaches entered the room.

“What is the difficulty?” queried the man, and briefly Kendale explained.

“It seems hardly worth while to take him to the hospital,” said one of the men; “he would hardly last until we reach there.  Still, if you insist—­”

“Yes, I insist,” he cut in sharply.

“What name is to be entered?” asked the surgeon.

“Clinton Kendale.  He is an actor, and my cousin,” he responded in a low even voice.

He watched them while they carried forth the unconscious man.

“My first test will be with the people of this house,” he muttered, shutting his teeth hard.

Thrusting the money still deeper in his pocket, he walked boldly down the stairs, tapping at the door to the right, which he knew to be the living room of the family.

“I am going to give up my room,” he said.

“Laws a mercy, Mr. Armstrong!” exclaimed the old lady.  “What sudden notice!  I am so sorry to lose you!”

He chatted for a few moments, paid what was due her, then turned hastily and left the place, remarking before he went that he should not need the few things that he left in his room; that she could keep them if she liked as remembrances.

Once again he was out on the street, with the cold wind blowing on his face.

“Nothing ventured, nothing won!” he said, under his breath.  “Now for the heiress and the million of money.  By Jove! it’s better to be born lucky than rich.  I shall need an accomplice in this affair, and that imp of Satan, Halloran, is just the one to help me out with my scheme.  It’s lucky I have an appointment with him to-night.  I shall be sure to catch him.  I think it was a stroke of fate that I wasn’t in the cast for the rest of the week, though I kicked pretty hard against it at the time.  Good-by, footlights and freezing dressing-rooms.  I can make a million of money ere the day dawns.”

He hailed a passing cab, jumped into it and was driven across the city.

Halloran, the comedian at the same theatre, was sitting in his room half asleep over a half-emptied rum bottle.  He always resorted to this course to drown his sorrows when he was laid off.

An hour later the two men were driving with lightning-like rapidity toward the direction of Beechwood.

“Ten,” sounded from the belfry of a far-off church as the horses, plunging and panting, struggled up the road that led to the Fairfax mansion.

“Now see that you play your cards right,” warned Halloran.

“Trust me for that,” replied his companion, removing a cigar from his white teeth, and blowing forth a cloud of smoke.  He was about to draw a flask from his breast pocket, but Halloran put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Remember that is your besetting sin,” he said.  “You have had enough of that already.  It will require a steady nerve to meet the girl and carry out the deception, for the eyes of love are quick to discern.  If she should for an instant suspect that you are not her lover, Lester Armstrong, the game is up, and you have lost the high stake you are playing for.”