day or two."

Mr. Lindsey twisted round on her with a sharp look.

"Do you know aught of that man, John Phillips, whose name's in the papers
too?" he asked.

"No, sir, nothing!" she replied promptly. "Never heard tell of him!"

"And you've never heard of your brother's having been seen in Liverpool
of late?" he went on. "Never heard that he called to see any old friends
at all? For we know, as you have seen in the papers, Mrs. Hanson, that he
was certainly in Liverpool, and bought clothes and linen there, within
this last three months."

"He never came near me, sir," she said. "And I never heard word of his
being there from anybody."

There was a bit of a silence then, and at last the woman put the question
which, it was evident, she was anxious to have answered definitely.

"Do you think there's a will, mister?" she asked. "For, if not, the
lawyer I went to said what there was would come to me--and I could
do with it."

"We've seen nothing of any will," answered Mr. Lindsey. "And I should say
there is none, and on satisfactory proof of your being next-of-kin,
you'll get all he left. I've no doubt you're his sister, and I'll take
the responsibility of going through his effects with you. You'll be
stopping in the town a day or two? Maybe your mother, Hugh, can find Mrs.
Hanson a lodging?"

I answered that my mother would no doubt do what she could to look after
Mrs. Hanson; and presently the woman went away with Maisie, leaving her
papers with Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me when we were alone.

"Some folks would think that was a bit of help to me in solving the
mystery, Hugh," said he; "but hang me if I don't think it makes the whole
thing more mysterious than ever! And do you know, my lad, where, in my
opinion, the very beginning of it may have to be sought for?"

"I can't put a word to that, Mr. Lindsey," I answered. "Where, sir?"

"Panama!" he exclaimed, with a jerk of his head. "Panama! just that! It
began a long way off--Panama, as far as I see it. And what did begin, and
what was going on? The two men that knew, and could have told, are dead
as door-nails--and both buried, for that matter."

So, in spite of Mrs. Hanson's coming and her revelations as to some, at
any rate, of James Gilverthwaite's history, we were just as wise as ever
at the end of the first week after the murder of John Phillips. And it
was just the eighth night after my finding of the body that I got into
the hands of Abel Crone.

A