ssible--and, of course, there would be others.

No wonder that he stood and mused. Once more the aspect of life had
changed for him. He was back in that position from which the advent of
the unknown cousin had ousted him so easily--the cousin who had come,
had seen, and had conquered the one thing needful--the confidence and
help of Uncle Rad.

By what means he had succeeded in doing that had been the great
mystery which had racked Luke's mind ever since he felt his uncle's
affection slipping away from him.

Uncle Rad who had loudly denounced the man as an impostor and a
blackmailer before he set eyes on him, was ready to give him love and
confidence the moment he saw him: and Luke was discarded like an old
coat that no longer fitted. The affection of years was turned to
indifference; and what meant more still the habits of a lifetime were
changed. Lord Radclyffe, tyrannical and didactic, became a nonentity
in his own household. The grand seigneur, imbued with every instinct
of luxury and refinement, became a snuffy old hermit, uncared for, not
properly waited on, feeding badly, and living in one room.

All this Philip de Mountford had accomplished entirely by his mere
presence. The waving of a wand--a devil's wand--and the metamorphosis
was complete! What magic was there in the man himself? What in the
tale which he told? What subtle charm did he wield, that the news of
his terrible death should strike the old man down as some withered old
tree robbed of its support?

Now he lay dead, murdered, only God knew as yet by whom. People
suspected Luke, because Fate had given a fresh turn to her wheel and
reinstated him in the pleasing position from which the intruder had
ousted him.

Luke de Mountford was once more heir presumptive to the earldom of
Radclyffe, and the stranger had taken the secret of his success with
him to the grave.

CHAPTER XVIII

IT WOULD NOT DO, YOU KNOW

Since Lord Radclyffe was too ill to attend to anything, or to see any
one, it devolved upon Luke to make what arrangements he thought
fitting for the lying in state and the subsequent obsequies of the
murdered man. For the present, Philip de Mountford lay in the gloomy
mortuary chamber of the Victoria police court. Luke had sent over
massive silver candelabra, flowers and palms and all the paraphernalia
pertaining to luxurious death.

The dead man lay--not neglected--only unwatched and alone, surrounded
by all the evidences of tha