trifle scanty on top, was as
yet untinged by grey, while he wore the ends of his carefully-trimmed
moustache upturned, which gave him a slightly French appearance.

In his youthful days, long before he had succeeded to the title, he had
been honorary attache at the Embassy in Rome, and afterwards in Paris,
to which was attributable the rather Continental style in which he wore
both hair and moustache.

He drew his hand wearily across his brow, for ever since dinner he had
never left his writing-table, so busy had he been with the great pile of
documents which had been brought that afternoon by special messenger
from the Foreign Office.

Suddenly Jenner, the grave old butler who had been fifty years in the
service of his family, opened the door and announced:

"Mr. Darnborough, m'lord."

"Halloa, Darnborough!" cried the earl cheerily, as his visitor entered.
"Where have you sprung from at this time of night?"

"From London," replied the other. "I wanted to see you urgently, so I
ran down."

And the two men shook hands.

That the visitor was no stranger to the house was apparent, for, without
invitation, he sank into an arm-chair, stretched out his legs, and
looked very gravely up into the face of the Cabinet Minister before him.

He was dressed in a dark brown suit, and was none other than the
grey-faced stranger who, four days before, had sat in the schoolroom at
North Walsham and had aroused the curiosity of the coroner.

"Well, Darnborough, what's the matter?" asked the Earl, passing his
visitor the cigar-box. "I can see there's trouble by your face. What's
the latest problem--eh?"

The visitor selected a cigar, turned it over in his fingers critically,
and then, rising suddenly, bit off the end viciously and crossed to the
electric lighter near the fireplace.

"Well," he answered, "there are several things. First, we know why poor
Harborne was killed."

"Good," replied his lordship. "You Secret Service men always get to know
all there is to know. You're marvellous! Have you told them at Scotland
Yard?"

"No, and I don't mean to," replied Hugh Darnborough, the chief of the
British Secret Service, the clever, ingenious man whose fingers were
upon the pulse of each of the Great Powers, and whose trusty agents were
in every European capital. Long ago he had held a commission in the
Tenth Hussars, but had resigned it to join the Secret Service, just as
Dick Harborne had resigned from the Navy to become