had encountered Madame Vidaud at the chateau.

"As I turned a corner, a great, whirling streak rushed by me, so close as
to make me jump quickly to the side of the road. To my great surprise,
the automobile stopped a few yards from where I was standing and two men,
one tall, one short, jumped out and hurried toward me.

"'Hello!' cried the tall one, in a big, rumbling voice. 'Aren't you the
son of Charloix?' he said. 'I thought I recognized you, even through the
dust. Just the man I'm looking for!'

"'I would be pleased, sir, if you would name your business with me,' I
replied, not being in the best of humors to bandy words with this
stranger who seemed so familiar with my name and ancestry.

"'Certainly, certainly,' said the big man, with a heartiness that made me
ashamed of my bad humor. 'That's exactly what I stopped for. I am your
father's solicitor.'

"I started and drew back. 'You come from my father?'

"'Yes; and you must prepare yourself for a great shock, my son,' said he,
laying a great hand upon my shoulder. 'Your father is very ill.'

"'Dead!' I gasped, feeling myself turn white. 'When?'

"'Four days ago,' said the little man, who had not yet spoken.
'Apoplexy.'

"'Ah, I had forgotten! My friend M. Abbott, M. Charloix.'

"I bowed, scarcely acknowledging the introduction, for my mind was a
whirling turmoil of hopes and fears. 'You say,' I began, still much
dazed, 'that my father died four days ago. And have you been looking for
me since then, Monsieur?'

"'Yes, Monsieur, we have scoured the country and, before this fortunate
meeting to-day, had almost given up hope of finding you.'

"'But why did you take this so much trouble to find me Monsieur?' I had
asked. 'I had not thought myself of such importance.'

"'There were many good reasons for our search, Monsieur,' said my big
friend, a trifle stiffly, for I doubt not he was amazed at my lack of
emotion, not knowing my father as I had known him. 'In the first place,
we thought you might possibly wish to know of your father's death. Also,
there are several important matters relative to his decease that we
thought might interest you.'

"'Pardon, Monsieur,' said I. 'I had not meant to be abrupt. As you may
see, I have had a long and wearisome journey and am--what you
call--fagged. I must rest, Monsieur; then I can talk.'

"'Quite right, quite right!' he agreed, in his hearty manner. 'If I had
had any brains instead of being a great empty-headed f