re, makes a
statement--gets you to make a statement--when, as everybody knows,
you're not in your right mind--Oh, I'm not going to accept it!"

"There are proofs. You know, Wilfred," said the Marquess. "But I can
talk no longer. Leave me with my brother."

They went, the doctor and nurse only remaining: the Marquess's little
strength had been sorely tried, and the doctor was watching him closely.
With a defiant air, Heyton swaggered down the steps. As he reached the
bottom, a hand fell on his shoulder; lightly enough, but Heyton started
and winced.

"Will you give me a minute or two in the sitting-room, my lord?" said
Mr. Jacobs, blandly.

"Eh, what is it?" said Heyton, with an oath. "What do you want? I don't
want to be bothered just now; got plenty of my own affairs on my mind."

But he followed the detective. Mr. Jacobs closed the door and stood, on
one side of the table, looking at Heyton on the other.

"Yes, this has been a most upsetting business for you, my lord," he
said. "You have had, and are having, a most trying time; this is the
kind of thing which will break down the strongest man; and I'm about to
take the liberty of offering you a word of advice." As he spoke, he took
up a Continental Bradshaw which was lying open on the table. "In cases
of your kind, there's nothing like a change of scene and air. You want
to go right away: I mean, a _long_ way.--I've been looking up one or two
places where a man could hide himself--I beg your pardon!--I mean,
seclude himself without fear of interruption or--interference."

Heyton stared at him; and as he stared, with a puzzled frown, his
swollen face grew mottled, livid in places, red in others.

"I don't know what the devil you mean!" he blurted out. "Why should I go
anywhere?"

"For the sake of your health, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs, his innocent
blue eyes fixed on Heyton. "You want a change--and at once; in fact, it
is absolutely imperative." He leant forward across the table, patted the
Bradshaw and dropped his voice as he went on incisively, "You can catch
the night mail from Charing Cross. Book straight through by the
Trans-Siberian, by way of Moscow and Pekin. When you reach Harbin, go
right into the interior. There are mines there--anyhow, you can lose
yourself. You understand, my lord?"

The sweat stood out in great drops on Heyton's face; he tried to meet
the detective's eye with an insolent, indignant stare; but his eyes
wavered and fell and he s