ness, and I haven't forgiven myself yet for my failure in the case of Albert Amsted Pudleigh."
"Don't let it distress you," I said. "You did your best."
"Ah, you Britishers lack conscientiousness," said Chelubai sadly. "How can we really satisfy our aspirations if we are not thorough? We started in to knock him on the head, and, failing to allow for the abnormal thickness of his skull, we did not do it. It was a failure."
Angel and Bottiger looked at him with somewhat perplexed faces, as if they could not quite follow his enthusiasm; but I understood, and I said warmly: "Yours is a noble nature, Chelubai! You want to redeem your character for conscientious thoroughness, and I will never stand in your way. You shall use the handkerchief."
Chelubai looked very pleased.
On the morrow he and I drove down to Aldley on the Hill in his motor-car. He agreed with me at once that the parapet afforded no specious excuse for an accident to an elderly baronet, but he was charmed with the steepness of the tower steps, and when I showed him the belfry door he cried with genuine enthusiasm: "Perfect! Perfect! The very place for me! I will lie in wait here, and you need only contrive that Sir Reginald comes down last."
We perceived that the hinges of the belfry door
