detective officer held for his perusal; and then he turned indignantly
as Barron held out his hand.

Sir Mark was about to take it when Guest struck the hand down.

"How dare you?" began the prisoner.

"Don't touch the scoundrel, Sir Mark," cried Guest fiercely. "It is all
true."

"You cur!" roared the prisoner. "You turn against me? But I know the
reason for that: our friend the rejected in Benchers' Inn."

"Come away, Sir Mark," cried Guest. "The man is an utter knave."

"I will not believe it," cried Sir Mark.

"Read that letter, then," said Guest quietly, "written on paper bearing
your crest, from your own house, to his confederate Samuel Henderson,
the printer of the forged Russian notes."

Sir Mark sat silent and thoughtful in the corner of his carriage as he
and Guest were driven back, till they were near the house, when he
turned suddenly to his companion.

"Thank you, Guest," he said warmly. "Nothing like a friend in need.
Hang it, sir, I'd sooner take my ships into action again than meet my
guests here at home. But it has to be done," he said, "and our side
beaten. I will not believe that Mr Barron is guilty, nor yet that I
could have been made a fool. The man is a gentleman, and I'll stand by
him to the last in spite of all that is said against him. What do you
say, sir--what do you say?"

"Do you wish me to speak, Sir Mark?"

"Of course."

"Then I say that the man is an utter scoundrel; that you have been
horribly deceived; and that--there, I am making you angry."

"Not a bit, Guest; not a bit. I'm afraid you are right, but I must
fight this out."

The door was reached and Sir Mark uttered a sigh of relief, for there
was no crowd--not a carriage to be seen; and, upon entering the house,
it was to find that every friend and visitor had departed.

Sir Mark strode in upright and firm, and Guest stopped to say good-bye.

"No, no, my lad; don't leave me yet," said the old man. "Come up and
face the ladies first."

He led the way up into the drawing room, expecting to find Myra
prostrate; but there was only one figure to greet him--his sister. The
door, however, had hardly closed before Edie, who had been with her
cousin, ran into the room flushed and eager.

"Where is Myra?"

"Lying down, uncle. We--auntie and I--persuaded her to go to her room."

"Is she much broken down--much--"

"My dear Mark!" cried his sister sharply, "Myra is a sensible girl.
Now, then, don't keep us