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Rh and I have never ceased to regret, although I was a thousand pounds richer for it, the untimely death of Mr. Humphrey Friende.

It could not be helped, as you will see.

I was tired that night, and I went across to my friend's house in Addison Road, hoping to forget my weariness and worries by having a good fight over the chess-board.

The door was opened by Jacques. This man was a very singular character. He looked about eighty years old, but was as active and strong as a man of forty. He had been the confidential servant of Mr. Friende since they were both young men.

"Good-evening, doctor," he said; "my master is waiting for you, and the men's all ready."

"Thank you, Jacques," I replied; "I hope to leave here a winner to-night."

"I hope you won't, sir," answered the faithful Jacques; "something has upset my master to-day, and perhaps if he won to-night he would feel better."

I was certainly off colour that night, and a carefully prepared attack on the King's knight's side by the enemy got me into such desperate straits that I resigned at move forty-three.