hould say quite four hours," said Breton. "In that case, it's well
past two o'clock, and the light will be breaking in another hour or so.
Now, once across this stream, what shall we do?"

"What have we come to do? Go to the cottage, of course!"

"Wait a bit. No need to startle them. By the fact they've got a light,
I take it that they're up. Look there!"

As he spoke, a figure crossed the window passing between it and the
light.

"That's not Elphick, nor yet Cardlestone," said Spargo. "They're
medium-heighted men. That's a tallish man."

"Then it's the man the landlord of the 'Moor Cock' told us about," said
Breton. "Now, look here--I know every inch of this place. When we're
across let me go up to the cottage, and I'll take an observation
through that window and see who's inside. Come on."

He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a succession of
boulders made a natural bridge, and bidding him keep quiet, went up the
bank to the cottage. Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way past
the shrubs and undergrowth until he came to a great bush which stood
between the lighted window and the projecting porch of the cottage. He
lingered in the shadow of this bush but for a short moment; then came
swiftly and noiselessly back to his companion. His hand fell on
Spargo's arm with a clutch of nervous excitement.

"Spargo!" he whispered. "Who on earth do you think the other man is?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THE WHIP HAND

Spargo, almost irritable from desire to get at close grips with the
objects of his long journey, shook off Breton's hand with a growl of
resentment.

"And how on earth can I waste time guessing?" he exclaimed. "Who is
he?"

Breton laughed softly.

"Steady, Spargo, steady!" he said. "It's Myerst--the Safe Deposit man.
Myerst!"

Spargo started as if something had bitten him.

"Myerst!" he almost shouted. "Myerst! Good Lord!--why did I never think
of him? Myerst! Then----"

"I don't know why you should have thought of him," said Breton.
"But--he's there."

Spargo took a step towards the cottage: Breton pulled him back.

"Wait!" he said. "We've got to discuss this. I'd better tell you what
they're doing."

"What are they doing, then?" demanded Spargo impatiently.

"Well," answered Breton. "They're going through a quantity of papers.
The two old gentlemen look very ill and very miserable. Myerst is
evidently laying down the law to them in some fashion or other. I've
formed a