t twenty years. What makes you think it?"

"My namesake was a brother--son of my father's first wife. He left home
and disappeared. Rumour says he went to London, where he was last heard
of in company of a companion named Fastnet."

Mr Fastnet put down his glass.

"Eh?" said he. "The Fastnets are not a big clan. Are you sure that was
the name?"

"It was certainly the name that reached me."

"Must refer to some one else then. I never knew or heard of any one of
the name of Ingleton in my life."

Roger's countenance fell. The new scent appeared likely to be a false
one after all.

"How long ago is all this?" asked his host.

"More than twenty years. My brother left home in a pique, and, I'm
afraid, went to the bad in--"

"Twenty years?" said Mr Fastnet, putting down his cigar beside the
glass. "What sort of fellow was he? A harum-scarum young dog, with
impudent eyes, and a toss of his head that would have defied the bench
of bishops?"

"That is he," said Roger excitedly.

"Sit down!" continued Fastnet--"curly hair, arms like a young Hercules,
as obstinate as a bulldog, with a temper like a tiger?"

"Yes, yes! that must be the same."

"Left his mother and father in a furious tantrum, with a vow to cut off
his head before he showed face at home again? A regular young demon, as
honest as the Bank of England--no taste for vice in any shape or form,
but plunged into it just to spite his friends, civil enough when you got
him on the weather side, and no fool? Was that the fellow?"

"I'm sure you describe the very man," said Roger.

"Man? He was a boy; a raw-boned green boy, smarting under a sense of
injustice, a regular, thorough-paced young Ishmaelite as you ever saw.
I should fancy I did know him. But his name was not Ingleton."

"What was it?"

"Jack Rogers."

"No doubt he adopted his own Christian name as a disguise."

"Very likely. I could never get him to talk about his people. His one
object was to lose himself--body and soul--it seemed to me. Bless you,
I had little enough voice in his proceedings. I was wild enough, but I
promise you I was a milksop to him. Neck or nothing was his motto, and
he lived up to it. The one drawback to success in his particular line
was that he would insist on being a gentleman. Fatal complaint to any
one who wants to go to the bad."

"Have you any idea what became of my brother?"

"Not in the least. He knocked about with me for about a year,