rown. His mouth was underhung, giving him a pugnacious
and bad-tempered appearance. Nor did his looks appear to libel the
old sailor. To Brendon, at any rate, he showed at first no very
great consideration.

"You've come I see," he said, shaking hands. "No news?"

"None, Mr. Redmayne."

"Well, well! To think Scotland Yard can't find a poor soul that's
gone off his rocker!"

"You might have helped us to do so," said Mark shortly, "if it's
true that you've had a letter from your brother."

"I'm doing it, ain't I? It's here for you."

"You've lost two days."

Bendigo Redmayne grunted.

"Come in and see the letter," he said. "I never thought you'd fail.
It's all very terrible indeed and I'm damned if I understand
anything about it. But one fact is clear: my brother wrote this
letter and he wrote it from Plymouth; and since he hasn't been
reported from Plymouth, I feel very little doubt the thing he wanted
to happen has happened."

Then he turned to his niece.

"We'll have a cup of tea in half an hour, Jenny. Meantime I'll take
Mr. Brendon up to the tower room along with me."

Mrs. Pendean disappeared into the house and Mark followed her with
the sailor.

They passed through a square hall full of various foreign
curiosities collected by the owner. Then they ascended into a large,
octagonal chamber, like the lantern of a lighthouse, which
surmounted the dwelling.

"My lookout," explained Mr. Redmayne. "In foul weather I spend all
my time up here and with yonder strong, three-inch telescope I can
pick up what's doing at sea. A bunk in the corner, you see. I often
sleep up here, too."

"You might almost as well be afloat," said Brendon, and the remark
pleased Bendigo.

"That's how I feel; and I can tell you there's a bit of movement,
too, sometimes. I never wish to see bigger water than beat these
cliffs during the south-easter last March. We shook to our keel, I
can tell you."

He went to a tall cupboard in a corner, unlocked it and brought out
a square, wooden desk of old-fashioned pattern. This he opened and
produced a letter which he handed to the detective.

Brendon sat down in a chair under the open window and read this
communication slowly. The writing was large and sprawling; it sloped
slightly-upward from left to right across the sheet and left a
triangle of white paper at the right-hand bottom corner:

"DEAR BEN: It's all over. I've done in Michael Pendean and put
him where only Ju