"Do you think it polite--wise?"

"Come along, aunt. Never mind about politeness or wisdom. What do you
say, Mrs. Norton?"

"As you like, Miss Jacky. I must stay up, or--"

"Yes--the men can entertain him."

Just then Lablache's voice was heard outside. It was a peculiar,
guttural, gasping voice. Aunt Margaret looked doubtfully from Jacky to
Mrs. Norton. The latter nodded smilingly. Then following Jacky's lead
she passed up the staircase which led from the kitchen to the rooms
above. A moment later the door opened and Lablache and the other men
entered.

"They've gone to bed," said Mrs. Norton, in answer to "Poker" John's
look of inquiry.

"Tired, no doubt," put in Lablache, drily.

"And not without reason, I guess," retorted "Poker" John, sharply. He
had not failed to note the other's tone.

Lablache laughed quietly, but his keen, restless eyes shot an unpleasant
glance at the speaker from beneath their heavy lids.

He was a burly man. In bulk he was of much the same proportions as old
John Allandale. But while John was big with the weight of muscle and
frame, Lablache was flabby with fat. In face he was the antithesis of