ter, and the man who's been passing himself off as Marston Greyle.
Now, who is the man? Where did they get hold of him? Is he some relation
of theirs? All that's got to be found out. Of course, their object is
very clear, Marston Greyle, the real Simon Pure, was dead on their hands.
His legal successor was his cousin, Miss Audrey. Chatfield knew that when
Miss Audrey came into power his own reign as steward of Scarhaven would
be brief. And so--but the thing is so plain that one needn't waste breath
on it. And I tell you what's plain too, Copplestone--Miss Audrey Greyle
is the lady of Scarhaven! Good luck to her! You'll no doubt be glad to
communicate the glad tidings!"

Copplestone made no answer. He was utterly confounded by the recent
revelations and was wondering what the mother and daughter in the little
cottage so far away in the grey north would say when all these things
were told them.

"Let's make dead certain of everything," he said after a long pause.
"Don't let's leave any loophole."

"Oh, we'll leave nothing--here at any rate," replied Gilling,
confidently. "But you'll find in the morning that we already know almost
everything."

In this he was right. The doctor's story was a plain one. The young man
was very ill indeed when brought to him, and though he did not anticipate
so early or sudden an end, he was not surprised when death came, and had
of course, no difficulty about giving the necessary certificate. Just as
plain was the undertaker's account of his connection with the affair--a
very ordinary transaction in his eyes. And having heard both stories,
there was nothing to do but to visit one of the adjacent cemeteries and
find a certain grave the number of which they had ascertained from the
undertaker's books. It was easily found--and Copplestone and Gilling
found themselves standing at a new tombstone, whereon the monumental
mason had carved four lines:--

MARK GREY

BORN APRIL 12TH, 1884

DIED OCTOBER 6TH, 1912

AGED 28 YEARS.

"Short, simple, eminently suited to the purpose," murmured Gilling as the
two turned away. "Somebody thought things out quickly and well,
Copplestone, when this poor fellow died. Do you know I've been thinking
as we walked up here that if Bassett Oliver had never taken it into his
head to visit Scarhaven that Sunday this fraud would never have been
found out! The chances were all against its ever being found out.
Consider them! A young man who is an absolute strange