rude and exaggerated idea as to what manner of man is the owner of Bon Repos; and it is quite possible that some elements of truth may be hidden in them.  To me, M. Platzoff seems nothing more than a mild old gentleman; a little eccentric, it may be, as differing from our English notions in many things.  Not a smiling fiend in patent boots and white cravat, whose secret soul is bent on murder and rapine; but a shy valetudinarian, whose only firebrand is a harmless fusee wherewith to light a pipe of fragrant cavendish.

“One permanent guest we have at Bon Repos—­a guest who was here before my arrival, and of whose departure no signs are yet visible.  That is why I call him permanent.  His name is Ducie, and he is an ex-captain in the English army.  He is a tall, handsome man of four or five and forty, and is a thorough gentleman both in manners and appearance.  I like him much, and he has taken quite a fancy to me.  One thing I can see quite plainly; that he and Cleon are quietly at daggers drawn.  Why they should be so I cannot tell, unless it is that Cleon is jealous of Captain Ducie’s influence over Platzoff; although the difference in social position of the two men ought to preclude any feeling of that kind.  Captain Ducie might be M. Platzoff’s very good friend without infringing in the slightest degree on the privileges of Cleon as his master’s favourite servant.  On one point I am certain:  that the mulatto suspects Ducie of some purpose or covert scheme in making so long a stay at Bon Repos.  He has asked me to act as a sort of spy on the Captain’s movements; to watch his comings and goings, his hours of getting up and going to bed, and to report to him, Cleon, anything that I may see in the slightest degree out of the common way.

“It was not without a certain inward qualm that I accepted the position thrust upon me by Cleon.  In accepting it, I flatter myself that I took a common-sense view of the case.  In the petit drama of real life in which I am now acting an uneventful part, I look upon myself as a ‘general utility’ man, bound to enact any and every character which my manager may think proper to entrust into my hands.  Now, you are my manager, and if it seem to me conducive to your interests (you being absent) that, in addition to my present character, I should be a ‘cast’ for that of spy or amateur detective, I see no good reason why I should refuse it.  So far, however, all my Fouche-like devices have resulted in nothing.  The Captain’s comings and goings—­in fact, all his movements—­are of a commonplace and uninteresting kind.  But I have this advantage, that the character I have undertaken enables me to assume, with Cleon’s consent, certain privileges such as under other circumstances would never have been granted me.  Further, should I succeed in discovering anything of importance, it by no means follows that I should consider myself bound to reveal the same to Cleon.  It might be greatly more to my interest to retain