that is what every one believes, except possibly one
man--his former valet. His body was found lying dead on the floor of
his private apartment, the door of his safe open, the money and papers
missing. The coroner's jury brought in a verdict of murder on these
facts."

"And the murderer?"

"Left no clue; it was believed to be the work of a burglar."

"But when was this?"

She gave the date, and he studied over it.

"The same day he should have received my telegram," he said gravely.
"That's why the poor fellow never answered." He turned to her
suddenly. "But what became of my others," he asked, "and of all the
letters I wrote?"

"That is exactly what I want to learn. They must have been delivered
to his cousin, John Cavendish. I'll tell you all I know, and then
perhaps, between us, we may be able to figure it out."

Briefly and clearly, she set before him the facts she and Willis had
been able to gather: the will, the connection between Enright and John
Cavendish, the quarrel between John and Frederick, the visit of John to
Enright's office, the suspicion of Valois that the murdered man was not
Cavendish, and, finally, the conversation overheard in Steinway's, the
torn telegram, and the meeting between Celeste La Rue and Enright.

When she had finished, Westcott sat, chin in hand, turning the evidence
over in his mind. "Do you believe Frederick Cavendish is dead?" he
asked suddenly.

"Yes."

Westcott struck his hand down on the rock, his eyes glowing dangerously.

"Well, I don't!" he exclaimed. "I believe he is alive! My theory is
that this was all carefully arranged, but that circumstances compelled
them to act quickly, and before they were entirely ready. Two
unexpected occurrences hurried them into action."

She leaned forward, stirred by his earnestness.

"What?"

"The quarrel in the restaurant, leading to the making of the will," he
answered gravely, "and my telegram. The two things fit together
exactly. He must have received my first message that same night. In
my judgment he was glad of some excuse to leave New York and determined
to take the first train West. His quarrel with John, coupled with his
disgust of the company he kept, caused him to draw up this will
hurriedly. He left the club intending to pack up and take the first
train."

"And was killed before he could do so?"

"Possibly; but if that dead man had no scar on his chest, he was not
Frederick Cavendish; he was an