e to look ahead at us, and with that the
policeman pulled up with a great gasp and staggered into the ditch.

"'Ere 'e is!" cried the fly-driver, regardless of the angry
remonstrances of his fare. "'Ere 'e is! 'E's all right! It ain't 'im!
'Ere he is!"

"Shut your mouth, you fool!" cried the angry fare. "_Will_ you stop
making a show of me?"

"Not me!" cried the eccentric cabman. "I don't want no fare, sir! I'm
drivin' you 'ome for honour an' glory, an' honour an' glory I'll make
it! 'Ere 'e is!"

Hewitt took in the case in a flash--the flabbergasted policeman, the
excited cabman and the angry passenger. He sprang into the road and
cried to the cabman, who pulled up suddenly before us.

"Mr. Victor Peytral, I believe?" said Martin Hewitt.

"Yes, sir," answered the dark gentleman snappishly, "but I don't know
you!"

"There has been a deal of trouble here, Mr. Peytral, over your absence
from home, as no doubt you have become aware; and I was telegraphed for
by your daughter. My name is Hewitt--Martin Hewitt."

Peytral's face changed instantly. "I know your name well, Mr. Hewitt,"
he said. "There's a matter--but who is this?"

"My friend, Mr. Brett, who is good enough to help me to-day. If I may
detain you a moment, I should like a word with you aside."

"Certainly."

Mr. Peytral alighted, and the two walked a little apart.

I saw Hewitt talking and pointing toward the burnt barn, and I well
guessed what he was saying. He was giving Peytral warning of what he had
discovered in the barn, explaining that he must give the information to
the police, and asking if, in those circumstances, Peytral wished to go
home, or to make other arrangements. Often Hewitt's duty to his clients
and his duty as a law-upholding citizen between them put him in some
such delicate position.

But there was no hesitation in Mr. Victor Peytral. Plainly he feared
nothing, and he was going home.

"Very well, then," I heard Hewitt say as they turned towards us,
"perhaps we had better go on slowly and let my friend cut across the
fields first to break the news. Brett--I knew you would be useful,
sooner or later."

And so I hurried off, with the happy though delicate mission to restore
both father and lover to Miss Claire Peytral.

IV

Miss Peytral had to be put to bed under care of a nurse, for the
revulsion was very great, and so was her physical prostration. Bowmore,
now set free, and in himself a very pleasant young fell