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260 "Champnell, you don't mean it?"

"Don't I? When a man steals jewels to the value of twenty thousand pounds, puts them, with about two gallons of sea-water, into thirteen infernal machines; sends those infernal machines to the address of the Marquis of Bewlay; and they are brought to me, and explode, and nearly blow me up, and the whole place besides, it is generally supposed that that man has done something which necessitates the issue of a warrant."

"My dear fellow!—it was only a joke."

"For less pointed jokes men have been sent to penal servitude."

Lord Hardaway slipped his arm through Mr. Champnell's.

"I was so devilish wild, and Golden was so devilish sick, that I couldn't help but spoof him. As for Bewlay, I owe him one for a dozen different things; I was bound to be even with him some time. There was nothing in the tins but water and Golden's jewels." "Then it doesn't occur to you that you have been guilty of felony, and also of what a hanging judge might construe as an attempt to murder?"

"I say, Champnell, spare my blushes! I hear, dear boy, you've turned detective; you might do me a good turn, and all in the way of business. The fact is, I'm engaged to be married—the Bonnyer-Lees." Lord Hardaway winked. "It will set me on my legs."

"I thought that Miss Bonnyer-Lees was not on board the Stormy Petrel."

"She wasn't. That's what made me so devilish