ened?"

"There isn't much to tell, Mr. Nevill," the man replied. "Two Scotland
Yard men came to the shop at five o'clock. They arrested my employer for
stealing that Rembrandt from Lamb and Drummond, and they found the
picture in the safe. Mr. Foster asked permission to make a statement in
writing--he took things coolly:--and they let him do it. He wrote for
half an hour, and then, before the police could stop him, he snatched
a pistol from a drawer and shot himself through the head. I was so
flustered I hardly knew what I was doing, but I thought first of Miss
Madge, whom I knew from often bringing messages and parcels to the
house--"

"The statement? What was in it?" Nevill interrupted.

"I don't know, sir!"

"Then I must find out! I am off to town--I can't stop! You will be
needed here, Hawkins. Do all that you can for Miss Foster."

With those words, spoken incoherently, Nevill jammed on his hat and
hurried from the house. He turned instinctively toward Grove Park,
remembering that the nearest railway station was there. He was haunted
by a terrible fear as he traversed the dark streets with an unsteady
gait. Worse than ruin threatened him. He shuddered at the thought of
arrest and punishment. He could not doubt that Stephen Foster had
written a full confession.

"He would do it out of revenge--I put the screws on him too often!" he
reflected. "I _must_ get to my rooms before the police come; all my
money is there. And I must cross the Channel to-night!"

All the past rose before him, and he cursed himself for his blind
follies. He just missed a train at Chiswick station, and in desperation
he took a cab to Gunnersbury and caught a Mansion House train. He got
out at St. James' Park, and pulling his coat collar up he hastened
across to Pall Mall. He chose the shortest cut to Jermyn street, and on
the north side of St. James' Square, in the shadow of the railings, he
suddenly encountered the last man he could have wished to meet.

"My God, my uncle!" he cried, staggering back.

"You!" exclaimed Sir Lucius, in a voice half-choked by anger. "Stop, you
can't go to your rooms--the police are there. What do they want with
you?"

"You will find out in the morning," Nevill huskily replied; he reeled
against the railings.

"It can't be much worse--I know all about your dastardly conduct!"
said Sir Lucius. "Hawker has given me the papers, and I have found
poor Mary's son--the friend you betrayed. But there is no t