and, after comparing the seal with the impression, said, "It is right, sir: I deliver the pocket-book to you."
He held it out with the seal, and Christian rose to take them, saying, carelessly, "The other things—the chain and the little book—are mine."
"Your name then is"
"Maurice Christian."
A spasm shot through Mr Lyon. It had seemed possible that he might hear another name, and be freed from the worse half of his anxiety. His next words were not wisely chosen, but escaped him impulsively.
"And you have no other name?"
"What do you mean?" said Christian, sharply.
"Be so good as to reseat yourself."
Christian did not comply. "I'm rather in a hurry, sir," he said, recovering his coolness. "If it suits you to restore to me those small articles of mine, I shall be glad; but I would rather leave them behind than be detained." He had reflected that the minister was simply a punctilious old bore. The question meant nothing else. But Mr Lyon had wrought himself up to the task of finding out, then and there, if possible, whether or not this were Annette's hus-
