THE LAST ARABIAN NIGHT 521

Turgis." Mr. Golspie glared at him, and advanced
ferociously. "And what the devil do you want charging
in here like this, eh? What's the game, eh?"

"Lena. Lena."

"Do you mean my daughter, Lena? What are you
talking about? What about her? What the blazes has
she got to do with you?"

"I think-I've killed her."
"Killed her?"

"Yes." And Turgis stumbled to a chair and began
sobbing.

"My God! he's mad, he's clean mad," cried Mr.
Golspie to Miss Matfield, who had risen from her chair
and was looking from Turgis to Mr. Golspie in startled
bewilderment. "Here? you, stop that blubbering, and try
to talk sense. What do you know about my daughter,
Lena? You've never even set eyes on her."

"I have," cried Turgis, almost indignantly. "I was
with her to-night, in your flat. I've been there before.
I took some money there first—" He hesitated.

"That's right, he did take some money there," said
Miss Matfield quickly. "Oh!-I believe it's true."

Mr. Golspie pounced on him at once, clapping a
heavy hand on his shoulder. "Come on, then. What
happened? Get it out, quick/*

Turgis blurted out a few sentences, broken and con-
fused, but they were quite enough.

"My God, if she is, I'll kill you. Come on, get up,
you-you bloody little rat, you-we're going straight
into that taxi and we're going to see, and you're coming
with us."

"But can't you telephone?" cried Miss Matfield wildly.

'Yes, of course-no, I can t. I knew I'd have thought