ught I. "Not a soul has seen the little
wretch between Dun Moat and here!"

I jumped out of the car and followed Jim into the house, which I'd never
entered since it had been let to him. He had not paused in the great
hall, but was carrying his burden toward a small room which Grandmother
had used for receiving tenants, and such bothersome business. I flashed
in after him, and realized that Jim had fitted it up as a private
sanctum.

Somehow I didn't like him to go on fancying quaint things about my
character, and by the time he'd deposited Bertie on a huge sofa like a
young bed, I had plunged into my story.

I told him all from beginning to end; and when I'd reached the latter,
to my surprise Jim jumped up and shook my hands. "Are you congratulating
me?" I asked.

"No. It's because I'm so pleased I don't need to!"

"You mean?"

"Well, let's put it that I'm glad Burns may have to be congratulated
some day on being engaged to the Baroness Scarlett, instead of to--the
Princess Miramare."

So, he _had_ known of my activities, and had misunderstood my interest
in Terry! Brighteners alas! are always being misunderstood.

"I'd forgotten," I said, primly, "that the _women_ of the Scarlett
family inherit the title if there's no son. That would account for a
_lot_!... And so you don't think my theory of what's going on at Dun
Moat is too melodramatic?"

"My experience is," said Jim, "that nothing is ever quite so
melodramatic as real life. I believe this Cecil girl must be a
legitimate daughter of the chap who died in Australia. She must have
proofs, and they're probably where the Scarlett family can't lay hands
on them, otherwise she'd be under the daisies before this. That Defarge
type you talk about doesn't stop at trifles, especially if it's made in
Germany. And we both know Scarlett's reputation. I needn't call him
'Lord Scarlett' any more! But what beats me is this: why did the fly
walk into the spider-web? If the girl had common sense she must have
seen she wouldn't be a welcome visitor, coming to turn her uncle out of
home and title for himself and son. Yet you say she brought presents for
the kid."

"I wonder," I thought aloud, "if she could have meant to suggest some
friendly compromise? Maybe she'd heard a lot from her father about the
marvellous old place. Grandmother said, I remember, that Cecil Scarlett
was so poor he lived in Australia like a labourer, though his father
died here, while he was there,