donald.
Writ inside 'em as large as life and twice as nat'ril. Eh?--wot's the
matter, sir?"

For Cleek had whirled about suddenly and struck his hands together, and
was laughing, laughing like a man gone suddenly daft. He stopped
abruptly and put one hand upon Dollops's shoulder.

"Matter?" he said rapidly. "Why, simply this: Get a line on this young
Captain's handwriting, Dollops, and report to me this afternoon. And if
it tallies with this note, as I somehow fancy it does--well, we'll see
the fur fly so quickly that you won't be able to say Jack Robinson.
Happen to notice the size of the boots, by any chance?"

"Yessir. Tens."

"Good lad. And the footprints outside of the window in that little
courtyard are tens, too! The net's closing in upon you, my gallant
friend, and you won't get a chance to do much more spluttering and
exclaiming before I've found out what your little move in this
Inheritance Game is, and--nipped it in the bud!... Gad!--Captain Angus
Macdonald! And--tens!... Now, who the dickens would have thought it?"

CHAPTER XVII

A PAIR OF BOOTS

Who, indeed? That King's Evidence was beginning to prove itself against
still another member of this unhappy household--or, to be more literal,
a would-be member--was clearly to be seen. What if the Captain's story
of shielding someone else were a mere "blind," as he had thought once
before? What if he was in league with Lady Paula herself, and using a
pretended affection for Maud Duggan as a wedge to get into the graces of
the household? Who knew? Stranger things had happened. But if he was
scoundrel enough to steal the heart of a good woman, such as Miss Duggan
undoubtedly was, a good, honest, straight woman, then he were a
blackguard indeed!

Cleek had come across just such things in his varied experience in Yard
matters, and found his faith in human nature apt to be shaken by the
least wind that blew upon it. And for the will to disappear--after Sir
Andrew had declared that he would disinherit Ross and substitute the
name of his sister instead--and not that name which Lady Paula had hoped
he would substitute, the name of Cyril Duggan, as all her imaginings
had led her to believe--what if, on the strength of this fact, the
murder had been committed to get the old man out of the way, and then to
snatch the will itself, and--see what the Law would do for the widow and
the progeny? Who knew anything of Lady Paula but that she was the
daughter of a