hester her people came and took her away. Where she is now I
have no idea. Her people lived somewhere in Durham. Her father was a
doctor."

Her reply disappointed me. Yet I had, at least, retained knowledge of
the name of the original of the picture, and from the photographer I
might perhaps discover her address, for to me it seemed that she was
somehow intimately connected with those mysterious yachtsmen.

What Muriel told me concerning her, I did not doubt for a single
instant. Yet it was certainly more than a coincidence that a copy of the
picture which had created such a deep impression upon me should be
preserved in her own little boudoir as a souvenir of a devoted
school-friend.

"Then you have heard absolutely nothing as to her present position or
whereabouts--whether she is married, for instance?"

"Ah!" she cried mischievously. "You betray yourself by your own words.
You have fallen in love with her, I really believe, Mr. Gregg. If she
knew, she'd be most gratified--or at least, she ought to be."

At which I smiled, preferring that she should adopt that theory in
preference to any other.

She spoke frankly, as a pure honest girl would speak. She was not
jealous, but she nevertheless resented--as women do resent such
things--that I should fall in love with a friend's photograph.

There was a mystery surrounding that torn picture; of that I was
absolutely certain. The remembrance of that memorable evening when I had
dined on board the _Lola_ arose vividly before me. Why had the girl's
portrait been so ruthlessly destroyed and the frame turned with its face
to the wall? There was some reason--some distinct and serious motive in
it. Had Muriel told me the truth, I wondered, or was she merely seeking
to shield the suspected man who was her lover?

Hour by hour the mystery surrounding the Leithcourts became more
inscrutable, more intensely absorbing. I had searched a copy of the
London Directory at the Station Hotel at Carlisle, and found that no
house in Green Street was registered as occupied by the tenant of
Rannoch; and, further, when I came to examine the list of guests at the
castle, I found that they were really persons unknown in society. They
were merely of that class of witty, well-dressed parasites who always
cling on to the wealthy and make believe that they are smart and of the
_grande monde_. Rannoch was an expensive place to keep up, with all that
big retinue of servants and gamekeepers, and w