he was the spoilt darling of
Dublin society; good-looking, a splendid dancer, and a perfect rider, he
was the acknowledged 'catch' of the matrimonial market of Ireland, and
many a very aristocratic house was opened hospitably to the favourite
son of the millionaire.

"Of course, Percival Brooks, the eldest son, would inherit the bulk of
the old man's property and also probably the larger share in the
business; he, too, was good-looking, more so than his brother; he, too,
rode, danced, and talked well, but it was many years ago that mammas
with marriageable daughters had given up all hopes of Percival Brooks as
a probable son-in-law. That young man's infatuation for Maisie
Fortescue, a lady of undoubted charm but very doubtful antecedents, who
had astonished the London and Dublin music-halls with her extravagant
dances, was too well known and too old-established to encourage any
hopes in other quarters.

"Whether Percival Brooks would ever marry Maisie Fortescue was thought
to be very doubtful. Old Brooks had the full disposal of all his wealth,
and it would have fared ill with Percival if he introduced an
undesirable wife into the magnificent Fitzwilliam Place establishment.

"That is how matters stood," continued the man in the corner, "when
Dublin society one morning learnt, with deep regret and dismay, that old
Brooks had died very suddenly at his residence after only a few hours'
illness. At first it was generally understood that he had had an
apoplectic stroke; anyway, he had been at business hale and hearty as
ever the day before his death, which occurred late on the evening of
February 1st.

"It was the morning papers of February 2nd which told the sad news to
their readers, and it was those selfsame papers which on that eventful
morning contained another even more startling piece of news, that proved
the prelude to a series of sensations such as tranquil, placid Dublin
had not experienced for many years. This was, that on that very
afternoon which saw the death of Dublin's greatest millionaire, Mr.
Patrick Wethered, his solicitor, was murdered in Phoenix Park at five
o'clock in the afternoon while actually walking to his own house from
his visit to his client in Fitzwilliam Place.

"Patrick Wethered was as well known as the proverbial town pump; his
mysterious and tragic death filled all Dublin with dismay. The lawyer,
who was a man sixty years of age, had been struck on the back of the
head by a heavy st