h writing, and as Anderton looked at it, he saw that
the writing was made up of two names, written over and over again, the
names being those of Hubert Stane and Eric Harcroft. At first the
character of the handwriting of the two names was widely different, but
presently the separate characteristics were blended with a distinct
leaning towards those of Harcroft, though some of the characteristics
of the earlier writing of Stane's name still survived, though at the
bottom of the sheet only Harcroft's name was written, and that a dozen
times. The policeman whistled as he studied it.

"Where did you get this, Stane?"

"I found it in a copy of Plato which Ainley had borrowed from me. It
was returned before the forgery turned up, and that paper slipped out
when I was going through my possessions after my release from Dartmoor.
What do you make of it?"

"It is perfectly plain what the meaning of it is," answered Anderton
with conviction. "Whoever did this was blending two handwritings for
some purpose or other, and the purpose is not difficult to guess."

"That is what I felt when I saw it, and when the significance of it
dawned on me, I set out to find Ainley that I might ask him the meaning
of it. He had left England, and no one whom I could ask knew his
whereabouts. Things were very difficult for me at home and so I came
out here, stumbled on Ainley--and you know the rest."

Helen Yardely had listened to the talk of the two men without speaking,
but now she broke in. "I do not wonder Gerald Ainley did not keep his
promise to see you at Fort Malsun. I only wonder that when he arranged
for your deportation, as he surely did, he did not arrange for your
death."

"He does not know I have this paper," answered Stane with a grateful
look towards her. "But when I do meet him----"

He did not finish the sentence, and after a moment the girl announced
that the meal was ready. As they ate, Anderton glanced from time to
time at the man whom he had known as a careless youth at Oxford. He
noted the hardness of the eyes, the greying hair, the deep lines of the
face, and was moved to a sudden burst of indignation.

"Confound the man, Stane! If I were in your place I should be tempted
to shoot him! But that's too good for him."

"I will do that which will be worse for him," answered Stane quietly,
"I will make him own up."

The two who heard him, looking at his resolute face, had no doubt that
he would keep his word, and as ea