ing you can! Only be sure it's the truth.
Else by----!' he remembered himself suddenly and then went on: 'But
this is madness, pure madness!'

'I'll not deal with motives,' went on my friend, still speaking
quietly; 'they will doubtless come out in good time. For that matter I
would rather say no more at present. I have only said what I have to
give you a chance--of--of clearing out.'

Springfield gave me a quick glance, and then for a moment lost control
of himself.

'Oh, I see,' he said. 'This is a plot. Luscombe is in it. He has
been discussing things with this--this lunatic, and this hatched-up
absurdity is the result.'

I think Springfield felt he had made a false move the moment he had
spoken. Directly my name was mentioned, it became evident that the
plea of my friend's madness broke down.

'At any rate,' he went on, 'I am not to be intimidated, and I will not
listen to any hysterical slanderings.'

'Pardon me,' said Jack quietly, 'but Luscombe knew nothing whatever of
my intentions. You are sure you want me to go on?' he added quietly.

'Go on by all means. Doubtless you will be amusing. But mind,' and
Springfield's voice became threatening, 'I am a dangerous man to trifle
with.'

'I have grave reasons for knowing that,' was Jack's reply; 'but let
that pass. About three years ago news arrived in England that Maurice
St. Mabyn was dead--killed in a skirmish in Egypt. Some time
afterwards Colonel or Captain Springfield as he was then, came to
Devonshire, and gave a detailed account of his death. He said he was
with him during his last moments, together with--other interesting
things. From the account given Maurice St. Mabyn died in April, 1914,
and Colonel Springfield came, I think, in September, or October. By
this time George St. Mabyn had not only taken possession of his
brother's estates, but had also become the suitor for the hand of his
brother's fiancee.'

'Surely,' cried Springfield, as if in protest, 'there is no need to
distress us all by probing the wounds made three years ago. Personally
I think it is cruel.'

'It would be cruel but for what I am going to say,' replied Jack
Carbis. 'As it happens, Maurice St. Mabyn was not dead at the time. I
saw him,--spoke with him in Bizna in the July of that year.'

'You saw Maurice in July, although he was reported dead in April!'
cried Sir Thomas. 'Why--why----; but it can't be true! That is--are
you sure? I say, George, wasn't