al friends, the
Greys of Uplands. You may remember once doing that family a great
service."

"I remember perfectly well," I answered more cordially. "Pray tell me
what you want; I shall listen with attention."

"I believe you are the one man in London who can help me," he continued.
"I refer to a matter especially relating to your own particular study. I
need hardly say that whatever you do will not be unrewarded."

"That is neither here nor there," I said; "but before you go any
further, allow me to ask one question. Do you want me to leave London at
present?"

He raised his eyebrows in dismay.

"I certainly do," he answered.

"Very well; pray proceed with your story."

He looked at me with anxiety.

"In the first place," he began, "I must tell you that I am chairman of
the Lytton Vale Railway Company in Wales, and that it is on an important
matter connected with our line that I have come to consult you. When I
explain to you the nature of the mystery, you will not wonder, I think,
at my soliciting your aid."

"I will give you my closest attention," I answered; and then I added,
impelled to say the latter words by a certain expression on his face,
"if I can see my way to assisting you I shall be ready to do so."

"Pray accept my cordial thanks," he replied. "I have come up from my
place at Felwyn to-day on purpose to consult you. It is in that
neighbourhood that the affair has occurred. As it is essential that you
should be in possession of the facts of the whole matter, I will go over
things just as they happened."

I bent forward and listened attentively.

"This day fortnight," continued Mr. Bainbridge, "our quiet little
village was horrified by the news that the signalman on duty at the
mouth of the Felwyn Tunnel had been found dead under the most mysterious
circumstances. The tunnel is at the end of a long cutting between
Llanlys and Felwyn stations. It is about a mile long, and the signal-box
is on the Felwyn side. The place is extremely lonely, being six miles
from the village across the mountains. The name of the poor fellow who
met his death in this mysterious fashion was David Pritchard. I have
known him from a boy, and he was quite one of the steadiest and most
trustworthy men on the line. On Tuesday evening he went on duty at six
o'clock; on Wednesday morning the day-man who had come to relieve him
was surprised not to find him in the box. It was just getting daylight,
and the 6.30 local was