a man squeamish o' doing right for fear his wife's second cousin might
tell the neighbors."

"Ha-ha! Very profoundly philosophic! I dare wager you've carried her
letters at least a dozen times--now come."

Again Tom Tripe puffed out his cheeks and struck an attitude.

"Men don't get hanged for murder, sir."

"For what, then?"

"Talking before and afterward!"

"Excellent! If only every one remembered that! Did it ever occur to
you how the problem might be reversed ?"

"Sir?"

"There might one day be a letter for the Princess Yasmini that, as her
friend, you ought to make sure should reach her."

"I'd take a letter from you to her, sir, if that's your meaning."

Sir Roland Samson, K. C. S. I., looked properly shocked.

There are few things so appalling as the abruptness with which members
of the lower orders divest diplomacy's kernel of its decorative outer shell.
"What I meant is--ah--" He set his monocle, and stared as if Tripe were
an insect on a pin-point. "Since you admit you're in the business of