much
of the story as suited him, with the result that he too swore an
oath of vengeance against Sir Geoffrey Kynaston. Time goes on, and
Mr. Martival and his son both leave here. Mr. Martival is reported
to have died in Paris, his son goes to England, and is lost sight
of. We can, however, follow the story a little further. We can
follow it down to its last scene, and discover in the Mr. Brown who
had taken a small cottage near Sir Geoffrey's seat, within a week
of his return home, and whom soon afterwards we discover bending
over Sir Geoffrey's murdered body, the boy who, fired with what his
father had thundered into his ears as his mother's ruin, had sworn
that oath of vengeance against Sir Geoffrey.

"All this looks very simple, doesn't it? and I dare say, my dear
dad, you're wondering why I don't come straight away home, and
cause a sensation at Scotland Yard by clearing up the Kynaston
murder. Simply because that isn't quite my game. I didn't come over
here to collect evidence against Mr. M----, for I could have laid
my hand on plenty of that at home. There is something else at the
back of it all, which I can only see very dimly yet, but which will
come as a crasher, I can tell you, when it does come. At present I
won't say anything about this, only keep your eyes open and be
prepared. Ta-ta!

"Your obedient son,
"BEN.

"P.S. Don't worry about Xs. They won't come out of your pocket in
the long run, I can tell you.

"P.S. 2. Wednesday evening. Here's a pretty pickle! You remember
the artist I told you about. I'm d----d if he isn't a regular from
S.Y., and he's got his pocket-book pretty full, too. The game is
serious now and no mistake. Mind you, I think we stand to win
still, but I can't be quite sure while this chap's on the lay. Look
out for telegrams, and don't be surprised if I turn up at any
moment. It may come to a race between us. D----n, I wonder how he
got on the scent!"

CHAPTER XXXII

A STRANGE TRIO OF PASSENGERS

Before the open window of her room, looking out upon the fair wilderness
below, and over its high stone walls to the dim distant line of hills
vanishing in an ethereal mist, lay Mrs. Martival, and by her side stood
Bernard Maddison, looking down into her white suffering face.

Sorrow and time together had made stran