st administered, Triffitt knew his _Argus_. If he could fathom the
Herapath Mystery in such a fashion as to make a real great, smashing,
all-absorbing feature of a sensational discovery, the _Argus_ would
throw police precaution and official entreaties to the first wind that
swept down Fleet Street. No!--he, Triffitt, was not to be balked. He
would do his duty--he would go and see Jacob Herapath buried, but he
would also continue his attempt to find out how it was that that burial
came to be. And as he turned into the cemetery and stared at its weird
collection of Christian and pagan monuments he breathed a fervent prayer
to the Goddesses of Chance and Fortune to give him what he called
"another look-in."

CHAPTER XIV

THE SCOTTISH VERDICT

If Triffitt had only known it, the Goddesses of Chance and Fortune were
already close at hand, hovering lovingly and benignly above the crown of
his own Trilby hat. Triffitt, of course, did not see them, nor dream
that they were near; he was too busily occupied in taking stock of the
black-garmented men who paid the last tribute of respect (a conventional
phrase which he felt obliged to use) to Jacob Herapath. These men were
many in number; some of them were known to Triffitt, some were not. He
knew Mr. Fox-Crawford, an Under-Secretary of State, who represented the
Government; he knew Mr. Dayweather and Mr. Encilmore, and Mr. Camford
and Mr. Wallburn; they were all well-known members of Parliament. Also,
he knew Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, walking at the head of the procession of
mourners. Very soon he had quite a lengthy list of names; some others,
if necessary, he could get from Selwood, whom he recognized as the
cortege passed him by. So for the time being he closed his note-book and
drew back beneath the shade of a cypress-tree, respectfully watching. In
the tail-end of the procession he knew nobody; it was made up, he
guessed, of Jacob Herapath's numerous clerks from the estate offices,
and----

But suddenly Triffitt saw a face in that procession. The owner of that
face was not looking at Triffitt; he was staring quietly ahead, with the
blank, grave demeanour which people affect when they go to funerals. And
it was as well that he was not looking at Triffitt, for Triffitt, seeing
that face, literally started and even jumped a little, feeling as if the
earth beneath him suddenly quaked.

"Gad!" exclaimed Triffitt under his breath. "It is! It can't be! Gad,
but I'm certa