ou don't happen to know who
they really are, Ernshaw?"

"My dear fellow, if I did I shouldn't tell you," was the distinctly
non-committal reply. "I think it will be very much more interesting for
you to find out yourself."

By this time Koda Bux, in his capacity of major-domo and general
factotum to Sir Arthur, had opened the door, and at the same moment Sir
Arthur himself came downstairs. Vane heard him say:

"Good evening, ladies; I am sorry that I have no hostess to receive you,
but Mrs. Saunders, who helps Koda Bux to take care of me, will take you
upstairs."

Then there was a low murmur of a woman's voice, a rustle of skirts up
the stairs, and Sir Arthur went on:

"Now, Mr. Rayburn, if you will come with me I will show you where to put
your hat and coat and have a rinse if you like."

"Thanks, Sir Arthur," replied a voice which was strange to Vane.

"And who might Mr. Rayburn be?" he said to Ernshaw. "I didn't know the
governor knew anyone of that name. Still, from the sound of his voice he
is a gentleman, and, I should say, a man."

"I think when you meet him you will find him both," said Ernshaw.

"Ah," laughed Vane, "I think I caught you out there. So you are in this
conspiracy of mystery, are you? Now, look here, Ernshaw, what is it all
about?"

"Guilty, but shan't tell," replied his friend. "Now here comes Sir
Arthur; perhaps he will tell."

"Vane," said Sir Arthur as the door opened, "this is Mr. Cecil Rayburn,
and I want you to be very good friends; you will soon find out why."

Vane looked up and saw a man apparently a year or two older than
himself, about the same height and build, but harder and stronger, and
possessing that peculiar erectness of carriage and alertness of movement
that is owned only by those who have worked or fought, or done both, in
the outlands of the earth. But a glance at his face confirmed Vane in
the opinion he had formed when he heard his voice; he was undeniably
both a gentleman and a man. He held out his hand and said:

"Good evening, Mr. Rayburn. Of course a friend of my father's has to be
my friend also."

To his astonishment Cecil Rayburn made no movement to take his hand; on
the contrary he drew back half a pace and said with a note of something
like nervousness in his voice--a note which sounded strangely in the
speech of a man who had never known what fear was:

"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell; I hope we shall be friends, but I am afraid I
can't shake hands with