o the test."

"Do you seriously mean that you want me to repeat that history?" asked
the other suspiciously.

"I mean just that," said Jasper, and drew up a chair for his unpleasant
visitor.

The record of John Minute's life came trippingly from Mann's tongue. He
knew to an extraordinary extent the details of that strange and wild
career.

"In 1892," said the investigator, continuing his narrative, "he was
married at St. Bride's church, Port Elizabeth, to Agnes Gertrude Cole."

"Cole," murmured Jasper.

The little man looked at him with open mouth.

"Cole! Good Lord--you are--"

"I am his son," said Jasper quietly. "I am one of his two children. Your
information is that there was one. As a matter of fact, there were two.
My mother left my father with one of the greatest scoundrels that has
ever lived. He took her to Australia, where my sister was born six
months after she had left John Minute. There her friend deserted her,
and she worked for seven years as a kitchen maid, in Melbourne, in order
to save up enough money to bring us to Cape Town. My mother opened a tea
shop off Aderley Street, and earned enough to educate me and my sister.
It was there she met Crawley, and Crawley promised to use his influence
with my father to bring about a reconciliation for her children's sake.
I do not know what was the result of his attempt, but I gather it was
unsuccessful, and things went on very much as they were before.

"Then one day, when I was still at the South African College, my mother
went home, taking my sister with her. I have reason to believe that
Crawley was responsible for her sailing and that he met them on landing.
All that I knew was that from that day my mother disappeared. She had
left me a sum of money to continue my studies, but after eight months
had passed, and no word had come from her, I decided to go on to
England. I have since learned what had happened. My mother had been
seized with a stroke and had been conveyed to the workhouse infirmary by
Crawley, who had left her there and had taken my sister, who apparently
he passed off as his own daughter.

"I did not know this at the time, but being well aware of my father's
identity I wrote to him, asking him for help to discover my mother. He
answered, telling me that my mother was dead, that Crawley had told him
so, and that there was no trace of Marguerite, my sister. We exchanged a
good many letters, and then my father asked me to come and act