stake.
Mat Knowles here, the father of him who keeps the public now, he right
forgot to shut his inn, and there it was open two hours past the lawful
time, and all were drinking as though it were a great day of rejoicing,
instead of being one of sorrow for the De la Bornes. I mind you were
here a few weeks ago, miss. You know the two Mr. De la Bornes?"

"Yes!" Jeanne admitted. "I know them slightly."

"Mr. Andrew, he be one of the best," the man declared, "but Mr. Cecil
we none of us can understand, him nor his friends. What he is doing up
there now with this man what's staying with him, there's none can tell.
Maybe they gamble at cards, maybe they just sit and look at one
another, but 'tis a strange sort of life anyhow."

"I think it is a very interesting place to live in," Jeanne said. "What
became of the siren which warned the smugglers?"

"There's no one here as can tell that, miss," the man answered, "There
are them as have fancied on windy nights as they've heerd it, but fancy
it have been, in my opinion. Five and twenty years have gone since I've
heerd it mysen, and there's few 'as better ears."

"Mr. Andrew de la Borne is not here now, is he?" she asked.

The fisherman shook his head.

"Mr. Andrew," he said, "is mortal afraid of strangers and such like,
and there's photographers and newspaper men round in these parts just
now, by reason of the disappearance of this young lord that you heerd
tell on. Some say he was drowned, and I have heerd folk whisper about a
duel with the gentleman as is with Mr. Cecil now. Anyway, it was here
that he disappeared from, and though I've not seen it in print, I've
heerd as his brother is offering a reward of a thousand pounds to any
as might find him. It's a power of money that, miss."

"It is a great deal of money," Jeanne admitted. "I wonder if Lord
Ronald was worth it."

CHAPTER XI

The two men sat opposite to one another separated only by the small
round table upon which the dessert which had followed their dinner was
still standing. Even Forrest's imperturbable face showed signs of the
anxiety through which he had passed. The change in Cecil, however, was
far more noticeable. There were lines under his eyes and a flush upon
his cheeks, as though he had been drinking heavily. The details of his
toilette, usually so immaculate, were uncared for. He was carelessly
dressed, and his hair no longer shone with frequent brushings. He
looked like a person passing