FALSE SENTIMENT With his nerves strung to their utmost point of tension Wrayson walked homeward with the unseeing eyes and mechanical footsteps of a man unable as yet fully to collect his scattered senses.

But for him the events of the evening were not yet over.

He had no sooner turned the key in the latch of his door and entered his sitting-room, than he became aware of the fact that he had a visitor.

The air was fragrant with tobacco smoke; a man rose deliberately from the easy-chair, and, throwing the ash from his cigarette into the fire, turned to greet him.

Wrayson was so astonished that he could only gasp out his name.
"Heneage!" he exclaimed.
Heneage nodded.