and-white pattern of the iron grating against the sky; the
other was the face in the corner. It was the face of his brother.

Nothing came from Horne Fisher's lips except a Christian name, which
was followed by a silence more dreadful than the dark. At last the
other figure stirred and sprang up, and the voice of Harry Fisher
was heard for the first time in that horrible room.

"You've seen me, I suppose," he said, "and we may as well have a
light now. You could have turned it on at any time, if you'd found
the switch."

He pressed a button in the wall and all the details of that room
sprang into something stronger than daylight. Indeed, the details
were so unexpected that for a moment they turned the captive's
rocking mind from the last personal revelation. The room, so far
from being a dungeon cell, was more like a drawing-room, even a
lady's drawing-room, except for some boxes of cigars and bottles of
wine that were stacked with books and magazines on a side table. A
second glance showed him that the more masculine fittings were quite
recent, and that the more feminine background was quite old. His eye
caught a strip of faded tapestry, which startled him into speech, to
the momentary oblivion of bigger matters.

"This place was furnished from the great house," he said.

"Yes," replied the other, "and I think you know why."

"I think I do," said Horne Fisher, "and before I go on to more
extraordinary things I will, say what I think. Squire Hawker played
both the bigamist and the bandit. His first wife was not dead when
he married the Jewess; she was imprisoned on this island. She bore
him a child here, who now haunts his birthplace under the name of
Long Adam. A bankruptcy company promoter named Werner discovered the
secret and blackmailed the squire into surrendering the estate.
That's all quite clear and very easy. And now let me go on to
something more difficult. And that is for you to explain what the
devil you are doing kidnaping your born brother."

After a pause Henry Fisher answered:

"I suppose you didn't expect to see me," he said. "But, after all,
what could you expect?"'

"I'm afraid I don't follow," said Horne Fisher.

"I mean what else could you expect, after making such a muck of it?"
said his brother, sulkily. "We all thought you were so clever. How
could we know you were going to be--well, really, such a rotten
failure?"

"This is rather curious," said the candidate, frowning. "Without