has just telegraphed me. He says he has just received a message from
Plymouth. That man Springfield was found dead an hour or so ago.'

'Found dead!' I gasped.

'Yes, in his room in the ---- Hotel. Committed suicide.'

I looked at Lorna's face almost instinctively. It was very pale, and
there could be no doubt but that she was terribly shocked by the news.
And yet I felt sure I saw a look on her face which suggested relief.
But beyond her quick breathing she uttered no sound.

'It's terrible,' went on Sir Thomas, 'but after--after last night I'm
not sure--it's--it's not a relief to us all. Evidently the fellow----;
but--but it's terrible, isn't it? Of course the hotel people wired St.
Mabyn, as he told them at the bureau that he had just come from his
house.'

'How did he die?' I asked.

'Poison,' replied Sir Thomas. 'He seems to have injected some sort of
Indian poison into his veins. Evidently he had it with him, as the
doctor says it is unobtainable anywhere in England. He left a letter,
too.'

'A letter? To whom?'

'I don't quite know. To George St. Mabyn I expect. Awful, isn't it?'

I saw him look at Lorna; but her face told him nothing. She appeared
perfectly calm, although I felt sure she was suffering.

'I am awfully sorry your visit should have ended like this, Luscombe,'
said Sir Thomas three hours later; 'but you must come down again when
you can get a day or two off. Don't wait for a formal invitation; we
shall always be glad to see you.'

'Thank you, I'll take you at your word, Sir Thomas; meanwhile you'll
keep me posted up with the news, won't you?'

'You mean about---- Yes, I'll let you know what happens. Where are
you going, Lorna?'

'I'm going with Major Luscombe to the station, if he'll let me,' was
her reply.

'You've something to tell me, Lorna,' I said when we had started.

She shook her head.

'You are sure? Has Springfield's death made no difference?'

'No,' she replied, then she hesitated, and repeated the word.

'Jack'll ask you again, Lorna. Of course he's not told me; but he
will. He is one who never gives up. Never.'

'It's no use,' she said wearily. 'It's impossible, everything's
impossible.'

'Nothing's impossible to a chap like Jack. You don't mean to say that
Springfield----'

'Don't,' she pleaded. 'You don't know; he--he doesn't know; if he
did----,' and then she lapsed into silence.

'I'm coming down again soon,' I said as I entered th