"She's pretty O.T., she is," he grinned.

"Do you know her?" said Brett.

"I know her by sight. Seen her in the York now an' then."

"She can evidently take care of herself."

"Ra—ther. Don't you so much as look at her, mister, or off goes your topper into the river. She's in a bad temper to-night."

Brett laughed and walked ahead. On reaching the Surrey side the girl made for the Waterloo Road. There she mounted on top of a 'bus. The barrister went inside. He thought of the "man with black, snaky eyes," who "took penn'orths" all the way from the Elephant to Whitehall.

And now he, Brett, took a penn'orth to the Elephant. The 'bus reached that famous centre of humanity, passing thence through Newington Butts to the Kennington Park Road.

In the latter thoroughfare the girl skipped down from the roof, and disdaining the conductor's offer to stop, swung herself lightly to the ground. The barrister followed, and soon found himself tracking her along a curved street of dingy houses.

Into one of these she vanished. It chanced to be opposite a gas-lamp, and as he walked past he made out the number—37.

Externally it was exactly like its neighbours, dull, soiled, pinched, old curtains, worn blinds, blistered paint. He knew that if he walked inside he would tread on a strip of oilcloth, once gay in red and yellow squares, but now worn to a dirty grey uniformity. In the "hall" he would encounter a rickety hat-stand faced by an ancient print entitled "Idle Hours," and depicting two ladies, reclining on rocks, attired in tremendous skirts, tight jackets, and diminutive straw hats perched between their forehead and chignons—in the middle distance a fat urchin, all hat and frills, staring stupidly at the ocean.

In the front sitting-room he would encounter horse-hair chairs, frayed carpet, and more early Victorian prints; in the back sitting-room more frayed carpet, more prints, and possibly a bed.

Nothing very mysterious or awe-inspiring about 37 Middle Street, yet the barrister was loth to leave the place. The scent of the chase was in his nostrils. He had "found."

He was tempted to boldly approach and frame some excuse—a hunt for lodgings, an inquiry for a missing friend, anything to gain admittance and learn something, however meagre in result, of the occupants.

He reviewed the facts calmly. To attempt, at such an hour, to glean information from the sharp-tongued young person who had just admitted herself with a latchkey, was to court failure and suspicion. He must bide his time. Winter was an adept in ferreting out facts concerning these localities and their denizens. To Winter the inquiry must be left.

He stopped at the further end of the street, lit a cigar, and walked back.

He had again passed No. 37, giving a casual glance to the second floor front window, in which a light illumined the blind, when he became aware that a man was approaching from the Kennington Park Road. Otherwise the street was empty.

The lamp opposite No. 37 did not throw its beams far into the gloom, but the advancing figure instantly enlisted Brett's attention.

The man was tall and strongly built. He moved with the ease of an athlete. He walked with a long, swinging stride, yet carried himself erect He was attired in a navy blue serge suit and a bowler hat.

The two were rapidly nearing each other.

At ten yards' distance Brett knew that the other man was he whom he sought, the murderer of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, the human ogre whose mission on earth seemed to be the extinction of all who bore that fated name.

It is idle to deny that Brett was startled by this unexpected rencontre. Not until he made the discovery did he remember that he was carrying the stick rescued from the mud of Northumberland Avenue.

The knowledge gave him an additional thrill. Though he could be cool enough in exciting circumstances, though his quiet courage had more than once saved his life in moments of extreme peril, though physically he was more than able to hold his own with, say, the average professional boxer, he fully understood that the individual now about to pass within a stride could kill him with ridiculous ease.

Would this dangerous personage recognise his own stick?—that was the question.

If he did, Brett could already see himself describing a parabola in the air, could hear his skull crashing against the pavement. He even went so far as to sit with the coroner's jury and bring in a verdict of "Accidental Death."

In no sense did Brett exaggerate the risk he encountered. The individual who could stab Sir Alan to death with a knife like a toy, hurl a stalwart sailor into the middle of a street without perceptible effort, and bring down a horse and cab at the precise instant and in the exact spot determined upon after a second's thought, was no ordinary opponent.

Their eyes met.

Truly a fiendish-looking Hume-Frazer, a Satanic impersonation of a fine human type. For the first and only time in his life Brett regretted that he did not carry a revolver when engaged in his semi-professional affairs.

The barrister, be it stated, wore the conventional frock-coat and tall hat of society. His was a face once seen not easily forgotten, the outlines classic and finely chiselled, the habitual expression thoughtful, preoccupied, the prevalent idea conveyed being tenacious strength. Quite an unusual person in Middle Street, Kennington.

They passed.

Brett swung the stick carelessly in his left hand, but not so carelessly that on the least sign of a hostile movement he would be unable to dash it viciously at his possible adversary's eyes.

He remembered the advice of an old cavalry officer: "Always give 'em the point between the eyes. They come head first, and you reach 'em at the earliest moment."

Nevertheless, he experienced a quick quiver down his spine when the other man deliberately stopped and looked after him. He did not turn his head, but he could "feel" that vicious glance travelling over him, could hear the unspoken question: "Now, I wonder who you are, and what you want here?"

He staggered slightly, recovered his balance, and went on. It was a masterpiece of suggestiveness, not overdone, a mere wink of intoxication, as it were.

It sufficed. Such an explanation accounts for many things in London.

The watcher resumed his interrupted progress. Brett crossed the street and deliberately knocked at the door of a house in which the ground floor was illuminated.

Someone peeped through a blind, the door opened as far as a rattling chain would permit.

"Good evening," said Brett.

"What do you want?" demanded a suspicious woman.

"Mr. Smith—Mr. Horatio Smith."

"He doesn't live here."

"Dear me! Isn't this 76 Middle Street?"

"Yes; all the same, there's no Smiths here."

The door slammed; but the barrister had attained his object. The other man had entered No. 37.



CHAPTER XXV

WHERE DID MARGARET GO?

In the Kennington Park Road he hailed hansom and drove home. Winter awaited him, for Smith now admitted the detective without demur should his master be absent.

The barrister walked to a sideboard, produced a decanter of brandy, and helped himself to a stiff dose.

"Ah," he said pleasantly, "our American cousins call it a 'corpse reviver,' but a corpse could not do that, could he, Winter?"

"I know a few corpses that would like to try. But what is up, sir? I have not often seen you in need of stimulants."

"I am most unfeignedly glad to give you the opportunity. Winter, suppose, some time to-morrow, you were told that the body of Reginald Brett, Esq., barrister-at-law, and a well-known amateur investigator of crime, had been picked up shortly after midnight in the Kennington district, whilst the medical evidence showed that death was caused by a fractured skull, the result of a fall, there being no other marks of violence on the person, what would you have thought?"

"It all depends upon the additional facts that came to light."

"I will tell them to you. You were aware that I had quitted the hotel, because you called there?"

"Yes."

"Whom did you see?"

"Mr. David. He said that you were angry with Mrs. Capella, for no earthly reason that he could make out. He further informed me that she had followed you when you left the room, and had not returned, being presumably in her own apartment."

"Anything further?"

"Mr. Hume asked Miss Layton to go and see if Mrs. Capella had retired for the night. Miss Layton came back, looking rather scared, with the information that Mrs. Capella had dressed and gone out. After a little further talk we came to the conclusion that you were both together. Was that so?"

Brett had commenced his cross-examination with the intention of humorously proving to Winter that he (the detective) would suspect the wrong person of committing the imagined murder. Now he straightened himself, and continued in deadly earnest:

"When did you leave the hotel?"

"About 10.15."

"Had not Mrs. Capella returned?"

"Not a sign of her. Miss Layton was alarmed, both the men furious, Mr. Robert particularly so. I did not see any use in remaining there; thought, in fact, I ought to obey orders and await you here, so here I am."

The barrister scribbled on a card: "Is Mrs. C. at home?" He rang for Smith, and said:

"Take a cab to Mr. Hume's hotel. Give him that card, and bring me the answer. If you and the cabman must have a drink together, kindly defer the function until after your return."

Smith took such jibes in good part. He knew full well that to attempt to argue with his master would produce a list of previous convictions.

Then Brett proceeded to amaze Winter in his turn, giving him a full, true, and complete history of events since his parting from Mrs. Capella in the corridor.

He had barely finished the recital when Smith returned with a note:

"Yes; she came in at 10.45, and has since retired for the night. She says that her head ached, that she wanted to be alone, and went for a long walk. Seemed rather to resent our anxiety. Helen and I will be glad when we are all safely away from London. D.H."

The barrister pondered over this communication for a long time.

"I fear," he said at last, "that I came away from Middle Street a few minutes too soon. To tell the truth, I was in an abject state of fear. Next time I meet Mr. Frazer the Third I will be ready for him."

"Is he really so like the others that he might be mistaken for one of them?"

"In a sense, yes. He has the same figure, general conformation, and features. But in other respects he is utterly different. Have you ever seen a great actor in the role of Mephistopheles?"

"I don't remember. My favourite villain was Barry Sullivan as Richard III."

Brett laughed hysterically.

"Let me speak more plainly. You have, no doubt, a vague picture in your mind of a certain gentleman of the highest descent who is popularly credited with the possession of horns, hoofs, and a barbed tail?"

"I've heard of him."

"Very well. You will see someone very like him, minus the adornments aforesaid, when you set eyes on the principal occupant of 37 Middle Street."

Winter slowly assimilated this description. Then he inquired:

"Why did you say just now that you came away from Middle Street a few minutes too soon?"

"Where did Mrs. Capella go when she left the hotel?"

"If she went to visit the man you met, then she is acting in collision with her brother's murderer, and she knows it."

"That is a hard thing to say, Winter."

"It is a harder thing to credit, sir; but one cannot reject all evidence, merely because It happens to be straightforward and not hypothetical."

"Winter, you are sneering at me."

"No; I am only trying to make you admit the tendency of facts discovered by yourself. There is a period in all criminal investigation when deductive reasoning becomes inductive."

"Now I have got you," cried Brett "I thought I recognised the source of your new-born philosophy in the first postulate. The second convinces me. You have been reading 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue.'"

"The book is in my pocket," admitted Winter.

"I recommend you to transfer it to your head. It should be issued departmentally as a supplement to the Police Code. But let us waste no more time. To-morrow we have much to accomplish."

"I am all attention."

"In the first place, Mrs. Capella is leaving London for the North. She must not be regarded in our operations. The woman is weighted with a secret. I am sorry for her. I prefer to allow events as supplied by others to unravel the skein. Secondly, Jiro and his wife, and all who visit them, or whom they visit, must be watched incessantly. Get all the force required for this operation in its fullest sense. You, with one trusted associate, must keep a close eye on No. 37 Middle Street. On no account obtrude yourself personally into affairs there. Rather miss twenty opportunities than scare that man by one false move. Do you understand me thoroughly?"

"I am to see and not be seen. If I cannot do the one without the other, I must do neither."

"Exactly. What a holiday you are having! You will return to the Yard with an expanded brain. When you buy a new hat you will be astounded and gratified. But beware of the fate of the frog in the fable. He inflated himself until he emulated the size of the bull."

"And then?"

"Oh, then he burst."

The detective changed the conversation abruptly.

"What do you propose doing, Mr. Brett?"

"I purpose reading a chapter in 'The Stowmarket Mystery,' written by your friend, Mr. Holden."

They heard a loud rat-tat on the outer door.

"Probably," continued Brett, "this is its title."

Smith entered with a telegram. It was in the typed capitals usually associated with Continental messages. It read:

"Johnson leaves Naples to-night with others, I travel same train.—HOLDEN."

The barrister surveyed the simple words with an intensity that indicated his desire to wrest from their context its hidden significance.

Winter, more subject to the influences of the hour, puffed his cigar furiously.

"You arrange your words to suit the next act for all the world like an Adelphi play," he growled.

"I see that Holden has the same gift. What does he mean by 'others'? Who is Capella bringing with him?"

"Witnesses," volunteered Winter.

"Just so; but witnesses in what cause?"

"How the—how can I tell?"

"By applying your borrowed logic. Try the deductive reasoning you flung at me a while ago."

"I don't quite know what 'deductive' means," was the sulky admission.

"That is the first step towards wisdom. You admit ignorance. Deduction, in this sense, is the process of deriving consequences from admitted facts. Now, mark you. Capella wishes to be rid of his wife, by death or legal separation. He thinks he wants to marry Miss Layton. He is convinced that something within his power, if done effectively, will bring about both events. He can shunt Mrs. Capella, and so disgust Miss Layton with the Hume-Frazers that she will turn to the next ardent and sympathetic wooer that presents himself. He knew the points of his case, and went to Naples to procure proofs. He has obtained them. They are chiefly living persons. He is bringing them to England, and their testimony will convict Mrs. Capella of some wrong-doing, either voluntary or involuntary. Holden knows what Capella has accomplished, and thinks it is unnecessary to remain longer in Naples. He is right. I tell you, Winter, I like Holden."

"And I tell you, Mr. Brett, that If I swallowed the whole of Mr. Poe's stories, I couldn't make out Holden's telegram in that fashion. So I must stick to my own methods, and I've put away a few wrong 'uns in my time. When shall I see you next?"

Brett took out his watch.

"At seven p.m., the day after to-morrow," he said coolly. "Until then my address is 'Hotel Metropole, Brighton.'"



CHAPTER XXVI

MR. OOMA

He kept his word. Early next morning, after despatching a message to David Hume, and receiving an answer—an acknowledgment of his address in case of need—he took train to London-by-the-Sea, and for thirty-six hours flung mysteries and intrigues to the winds.

He came back prepared for the approaching climax. In such matters he was a human barometer. The affairs of the family in whose interests he had become so suddenly involved were rapidly reaching an acute stage. Something must happen soon, and that something would probably have tremendous and far-reaching consequences.

Capella and his companions, known and unknown, would reach London at 7.30 p.m. It pleased Brett to time his homeward journey so that he would speed in the same direction, but arrive before them.

In these trivial matters he owned to a boyish enthusiasm. It stimulated him to "beat the other man," even if he only called upon the London, Brighton, and South Coast line to conquer a weak opponent like the South-Eastern.

At his flat were several letters and telegrams. Mrs. Capella wrote:

"I have seriously considered your last words to me. It is hard for a woman, the victim of circumstances, and deprived of her husband's support at a most trying and critical period, to know how to act for the best. You said you wished your hands to be left unfettered. Well, be it so. You will encounter no hindrance from me. I pray for your success, and can only hope that in bringing happiness to others you will secure peace for me."

"Poor woman!" he murmured. "She still trusts to chance to save her. Whom does she dread? Not her husband. Each day that passes she must despise him the more. Does she know that Robert loves her? Is she afraid that he will despise her? Really, a collision in which Capella was the only victim would be a perfect godsend."

David telegraphed the safe arrival of the party at a Whitby hotel. "We have seen nothing more of our Northumberland Avenue acquaintance," he added.

Holden, too, cabled from Paris, announcing progress. The remainder of the correspondence referred to other matters and social engagements, all which latter fixtures the barrister had summarily broken.

Winter was announced. His face heralded important tidings.

"Well, how goes the ratiocinative process?' was Brett's greeting.

"I don't know him," said the detective. "But I do happen to know most of the private inquiry agents in London, and one of 'em is going strong in Middle Street. He's watching Mr. Ooma for all he's worth."

"Mr. Whom-a?"

"I'm not joking, Mr. Brett. That is the name of the mysterious gent in No. 37—Ooma, no initials. Anyhow, that is the name he gives to the landlady, and her daughter—the girl you followed from the hotel—tells all her friends that when he gets his rights he will marry her and make her a princess."

"Ooma—a princess," repeated Brett.

"Such is the yarn in Kennington circles. I obeyed orders absolutely. I and my mate took turn about in the lodgings we hired, where we are supposed to be inventors. My pal has a mechanical twist. He puts together a small electric machine during his spell, and I take it to pieces in mine. Yesterday my landlady was in the room, and Ooma looked out of the opposite window. Then she told me the whole story."

"Go on—do!"

"Mr. Ooma is evidently puzzled to learn what has become of the Hume-Frazers and Mrs. Capella."

"Why do you bring in her name?"

"Because it leads to the second part of my story. Someone—Capella or his solicitors, I expect—instructed Messrs. Matchem and Smith, private detectives, to keep a close eye on the lady. Their man is an ex-police constable, a former subordinate of mine who was fined for taking a drink when he ought not to. Of course, I knew him and he knew me, so I hadn't much trouble in getting it out of him."

The speaker paused with due dramatic effect.

"Got what out of him?" cried Brett impatiently. "And don't puff your cheeks in that way. Remember the terrible fate of the frog who would be a bull."

"There's neither frogs nor bulls in this business," retorted Winter, calm in the consciousness of his coming revelation. "Mrs. Capella did go to Middle Street that night. She drove there in a hansom, had a long talk with Ooma, and nearly drove Miss Dew crazy with jealousy."

"We guessed that already. Miss Dew is the prospective princess, I presume?"

"Yes. She has been twice to the hotel since, trying to find out where the party went to."

"Next?"

"Ooma has plenty of money, and now for my prize packet—he is a Jap!"

"Impossible!"

"This time you are wrong, Mr. Brett. You have only seen him once. You were full of his remarkable likeness to the Hume-Frazers. It is startling, I admit, and at night-time no man living could avoid the mistake. But I tell you he is a Jap. He met Jiro yesterday, and they walked in Kensington Palace Gardens. They talked Japanese all the time. My mate heard them. He distinctly caught the word 'Okasaki' more than once. He managed to shadow them very neatly by hiring a bath-chair and telling the attendant to come near to the pair every time there was a chance. More than that, when you know it, you can see the Japanese eyes, skin, and mouth. It is the grafting of the Jap on the European model that gives him the likeness to—well, to the party you mentioned the other day."

"The devil!" exclaimed Brett.

"That's him!"

It was useless to explain that the exclamation was one of amazement.

The barrister began to roam about the apartment, frowning with the intensity of his thoughts. Once he confronted Winter.

"Are you sure of this?" he demanded.

"So sure that were it not for your positive instructions, Mr. Ooma would now be in Holloway, awaiting his trial on a charge of murder. Look at the facts. 'Rabbit Jack' can identify him. He knew how to use the Ko-Katana. He knew the Japanese tricks of wrestling, which enabled him to make those two clever attacks on the two cousins. He has some power over Mrs. Capella, which brings her to him at eleven at night in a distant quarter of London. He made Jiro write the typed letter in my possession. He sent Jiro to Ipswich to attend Mr. David's second trial when the first missed fire. I can string Mr. Ooma on that little lot."

"Winter," said Brett sternly, "you make me tired. Have all these stunning items of intelligence invaded your intellect only since you went to Middle Street?"

"No, not exactly, Mr. Brett. I must admit that each one of them is your discovery, except the fact that he is a Jap—always excepting that—but yesterday I strung them together, so to speak."

"Ending your task by stringing Ooma, in imagination. I allow you full credit for your sensational development—always excepting this, that I sent you to Middle Street. Why did he kill Sir Alan? How does his Japanese nationality elucidate an utterly useless and purposeless murder?"

"I don't know, Mr. Brett."

"Unless I am much mistaken, you will learn to-night. Holden is nearly due."

The barrister resumed his stalk round the room. In another minute he stopped to glance at his watch.

"Half-past seven," he murmured. "Just time to get a message through to Whitby, and perhaps a reply."

He wrote a telegram to Hume: "Where is Fergusson? I want to see him."

"What has Fergusson got to do with the business?" asked the detective.

"Probably nothing. But he is the oldest available repository of the family secrets. His master has told him to be explicit with me. By questioning him, I may solve the riddle presented by Mr. Ooma. Does the name suggest nothing to you, Winter?"

"It has a Japanese ring about it."

"Nothing Scotch? Isn't it like Hume, for instance?"

"By Jove! I never thought of that. Well, there, I give in. Ooma! Dash my buttons, that beats cock-fighting!"

The barrister paid no heed to Winter's fall from self-importance. He pondered deeply on the queer twist given to events by the detective's statement. At last he took a volume from his book-case.

"Do you remember what I told you about Japanese names?" he said. "I described to you, for instance, what strange mutations your surname would undergo were you born in the Far East."

"Yes; I would be called Spring, Summer, etc, according to my growth."

"Then listen to this," and he read the following extract from that excellent work, "The Mikado's Empire," by W.E. Griffis:

"It has, until recently, in Japan been the custom for every Samurai to be named differ-ently In babyhood, boyhood, manhood, or promotion, change of life, or residence, In commemoration of certain events, or on account of a vow, or from mere whim."

"What a place for aliases!" interpolated the professional.

"At the birth of a famous warrior," went on Brett, "his mother, having dreamed that she conceived by the sun, called him Hiyoshi Maro (good sun). Others dubbed him Ko Chiku (small boy), and afterward Saru Watsu (monkey-pine)."

He closed the volume.

"This gentleman has twenty other names," he added; "but the foregoing list will suffice. Doesn't it strike you as odd that the man who struck down the fifth Hume-Frazer baronet on the spot so fatal to his four predecessors, should bring from a country given to such name-changes a cognomen that irresistibly recalls the original enemy of the family, David Hum"?"

"It Is odd," asserted Winter.

Someone rang, and was admitted.

"Mr. Holden," announced Smith.



CHAPTER XXVII

HOLDEN'S STORY

The long-nosed ex-sergeant entered. His sallow face was browned after his long journeys and exposure to the Italian sun in midsummer. He was soiled and travel-stained.

"Excuse my appearance," he said. "I have had no time for even a wash since this morning. On board the boat I thought it best to keep a constant watch on Capella and his companions."

"Who are they?" demanded Brett.

Mr. Holden looked at the barrister with an injured air.

"I am a man of few words, sir," he said, "and if you do not mind, I will tell my story in my own way."

Winter was secretly delighted to hear the "Old 'Un," as they called him in the Yard, take a rise out of Brett in this manner.

"Perhaps," exclaimed the barrister, "your few words will come more easily if you wet your whistle."

"Well, I must admit that Italian wine—"

"Is not equal to Scotch; or is it Irish?"

"Irish, sir, if you please."

Mr. Holden's utterance having been cleared of cinders, he made a fresh start.

"As I was saying, gentlemen, I kept an observant eye on Capella and his companions, and at the same time occupied myself in the fashioning of certain little models with which to illustrate my subsequent remarks."

He produced a map of Naples, which he carefully smoothed out on the table, pressing the creases with his fingers until Brett itched to tweak his long nose.

The man was evidently a Belfast Irishman, and the barrister forced himself to find amusement in speculating how such an individual came to speak Italian fluently. Speculation on this abstruse problem, however, yielded to keen interest in Mr. Holden's proceedings.

On the face of the map he located a number of small wooden carvings, which were really very ingenious. They represented churches, an hotel, a mansion, three ordinary houses, a rambling building like a public institution, and a nondescript structure difficult to classify.

"I find," said Mr. Holden, when the mise-en-scene was quite to his liking, "that a good map, and a few realistic models of the principal buildings dealt with in my discourse, give a lucidity and a coherence otherwise foreign to the narrative."

Even Winter became restive under this style of address. Brett caught his eye, and moved by common impulse, they lessened the whisky-mark in a decanter of Antiquary.

"Allow me to remark," interpolated Brett, "that your telegrams were admirably terse and to the point."

"Thank you, sir. Many eminent judges have complimented me on my manner of giving evidence. And now to business. I arrived at the railway station here" (touching the non-descript building), "and took a room in the Villa Nuova here" (he laid a finger on the mansion), "which, as you see, is quite close to the Hotel de Londres here" (a flourish over the hotel), "at which, as I expected, Mr. Capella took up his abode. According to your instructions I obtained a competent assistant, a native of Naples, and we both awaited Mr. Capella's arrival. He reached Naples at 10.30 a.m. the day following my advent at night, and after breakfast drove straight to the Reclusorio, or Asylum for the Poor, situated here" (he indicated the institution), "close to the Botanical Gardens. Mr. Capella arranged with the authorities to withdraw from the poorhouse an elderly woman named Maria Bresciano. It subsequently transpired that she was a nurse employed by a certain English gentleman named Fraser Beechcroft, who became entangled with a beautiful Italian girl named Margarita di Orvieto some twenty-eight years ago."

Mr. Holden paid not the remotest attention to the looks of amazement exchanged between Brett and Winter. He merely paused to take breath and peer benignantly at the map, following lines thereon with the index finger of his right hand.

"It appears further," he resumed, "that the Englishman and the Signorina di Orvieto could not marry, on account of some foolish religious scruples held by the young lady, but they entertained a very violent passion for each other, met clandestinely, and a female child was born, whose baptism is registered, under the name of Margarita di Orvieto, in the church of the village of La Scutillo here." (He tapped a tiny spired edifice on the edge of the map.)

"The two were living there in great secrecy, as they were in fear of their lives, not alone from the young lady's relatives, but from her discarded lover, the Marchese di Capella, father of the present Mr. Giovanni Capella, who has dropped his title in England. The old woman, Maria Bresciano, attended the signorina and her child, but unfortunately the mother died, and her death is registered both by the civil authorities in the Minadoi section here" (lifting a small house bodily off the map), "and by the ecclesiastical here" (he touched another spire).

"The affair created some stir in the Naples of that day, but Beechcroft's suffering, the calm daring with which, after the girl's death, he defied those who had vowed vengeance on him, and the generally passionate nature of the attachment between the two, created much public sympathy for him. Among others who were attracted to him were a Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and their daughter, then resident in Naples. Oddly enough, Beechcroft did not content himself with securing efficient care for his child, but brought the infant to the Hotel de Londres—you note the coincidence—where it was nurtured under his personal supervision."

Brett drew a long breath. So this was Margaret's secret and Capella's vengeance! He was aroused, as from a dream, by Mr. Holden's steady voice.

"Mr. Beechcroft always held that the Signorina di Orvieto was his true wife in the eyes of Heaven, for their marriage was only prevented by a most uncalled-for and unnatural threat of incurring her father's dying curse it she dared to wed a Protestant. Eighteen months after her death he married Miss Somers at the British Consulate, and revealed his real name and rank—Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, baronet, of Beechcroft, near Stowmarket, England. His lady adopted the infant girl as her own, and local gossip had it that this was a part of the marriage contract, whilst the ceremony took place at an early date to give colour to the kindly pretence. The pair lived in a distant suburb, at Donzelle here" (another church fixed the spot), "and in twelve months a boy was born, birth registered locally and in the British Consulate. After four more years' residence in Naples, Sir Alan and Lady Hume-Frazer left Italy with their two children. Mr. Capella found two of their old servants, Giuseppe Conti and Lola Rintesano, living in these small houses here and here" (the remaining houses were lifted into prominence).

"Mr. Capella married Miss Margaret Hume-Frazer in Naples last January, the marriage being properly registered. His estates are situated in the South of Italy, and his father retired thither permanently during the scandal that took place twenty-eight years ago. Mr. Capella has brought with him the persons named as the nurse and servants, together with certified copies of all the documents cited. I also have certified copies of those documents, I now produce them, together with a detailed statement of my expenses. Mr. Capella is residing in a neighbouring hotel."

The methodical police-sergeant laid some neatly docketed folios on the table near the map, and sat down for the first time since entering the room.

As a matter of fact, he had not uttered an unnecessary word. Other men, describing similar complexities, would have given particulars of their adventures, how this thing had been done, and that person wheedled into confidences.

Mr. Holden rose superior to these considerations. His mission was all-important, and he had certainly fulfilled it to the letter.

"If ever a grateful country makes me a judge, Mr. Holden," said Brett, "I will add another to the encomiums you have received from the Bench. Indeed, before this affair ends, that pleasant task may be performed by an existing judge, for I do not see now how we are going to keep out of the law-courts. Do you, Winter?"

"Looks like a murder case plus a divorce," commented the detective.

"You are leaving out of count the biggest sensation, namely, the title to the Beechcroft estates. Under her father's will, if it is very cleverly drawn, Mrs. Capella may receive L1,000 per annum. She has not the remotest claim to Beechcroft and its revenues or to her brother's intestate estate."

Winter whistled.

"My eye!" he exclaimed. "What is Capella going to get out of it?"

"Revenge! His is a legacy of hate, like most other benefactions in the Hume-Frazer family. The next move rests with him. I wonder what it will be!"



CHAPTER XXVIII

MR. AND MRS. JIRO

Chance, at times, tangles the threads on which human lives depend, and creates such a net of knots and meshes that intelligent foresight is rendered powerless, and plans that ought to succeed are doomed to utter failure.

It was so during the three days succeeding Capella's return from Italy. Reviewing events in the lights of accomplished facts, Brett subsequently saw many opportunities where his intervention would have altered the fortunes of the men and women in whom he had become so interested.

Although he endeavoured to keep control of circumstances, it was impossible to predict with certainty the manner in which the fifth act of this tragedy in real life would unfold itself.

Would he have ordered things differently had he possessed the power? He never knew. It was a question he refused to discuss with Winter long after everybody was comfortably married or buried, as the case might be.

To divide labour and responsibility, he apportioned Ooma and his surroundings to Winter, Capella to Holden. The strict supervision maintained over the Jiro family was relaxed. Brett proposed dealing with them summarily and in person.

Holden had barely concluded his remarkable narrative when Hume's reply came from Whitby, giving the address of the hotel where Fergusson resided.

Brett went there at once, and found the old butler on the point of retiring for the night.

Fergusson was at first disinclined to commit himself to definite statements. With characteristic Scottish caution, he would neither say "yes" nor "no" until the barrister reminded him that he was not acting in his young master's interests by being so reticent.

"Weel, sir, I'm an auld man, and mebbe a bit haverin' in my judgment. Just ask me what ye wull, an' I'll dae my best to answer ye," was the butler's ultimate concession.

"You remember the day of the murder?"

"Shall I ever forget it?"

"Before Mr. David Hume-Fraser arrived at Beechcroft from London, had any other visitors seen Sir Alan?"

This was a poser. No form of ambiguity known to Fergusson would serve to extricate him from a direct reply.

"Ay, Mr. Brett," came his reply at last. "One I can swear to."

"That was Mr. Robert Hume-Fraser, who met him in the park, and walked with him there about three to four o'clock in the afternoon. Were there others whom you cannot swear to?"

The butler darted a quick glance at the other.

"Ye ken, sir," he said, "that the Hume-Frazers are mixed up wi' an auld Scoatch hoose?"

"Yes."

"Weel, sir, there's things that happen in this world which no man can explain. Five are dead, and five had to die by violent means. Who arranged that?"

"Neither you nor I can tell."

"That's right, sir. I know that Mr. David or Mr. Robert never lifted a hand against their cousin, yet, unless the Lord blinded my auld een, I saw ane or ither in the avenue when I tried to lift Sir Alan frae the groond."

"You said nothing of this at the time?"

"Would ye hae me speak o' wraiths to a Suffolk jury, Mr. Brett? I saw no mortal man. 'Twas a ghaist for sure, an' if I had gone into the box to talk of such things they wad hae discredited my evidence about Mr. David. I might hae hanged him instead o' savin' him."

"Suppose I tell you that the man you saw was no ghost, but real flesh and blood, a Japanese descendant of the David Hume who fought and killed the first Sir Alan in 1763, what would you say?"

"I would say, sir, that it had to be, were it ever so strange."

"Have you ever, in gossip about family records, heard anything of the fate of the David Hume I have just mentioned."

"Only this, sir. My people have lived on the Highland estate longer than any Hume-Frazer of them a'. My father remembered his grandfather sayin' that a man who was in India wi' Clive met Mr. Hume in Calcutta. There was fightin' agin' the French, an' Mr. Hume would neither strike a blow for King George nor draw a sword for the French, so he sailed away to the East in a Dutch ship, and he was never heard of afterwards."

This was a most important confirmation of the theory evolved by the barrister. For the rest, Fergusson's reminiscences were useless.

Next morning Brett went to Somerset House to consult the will in which Margaret's father left her L1,000 a year. Her brother died intestate.

As he expected, the document was phrased adroitly. It read: "I give and bequeath to Margaret Hume-Frazer, who has elected to desert the home provided for her, the sum of—" etc., etc.

The fact that she was, in the eyes of the law, an illegitimate child could not invalidate this bequest. For the rest, he imagined that when her brother died so unexpectedly, no one ever dreamed of inquiring into the well-intentioned fraud perpetrated by Lady Hume-Frazer and her husband. Margaret was unquestionably accepted as the heiress to her brother's property, the estate being unentailed.

Then he drove to 17 St. John's Mansions, Kensington, where Mr. and Mrs. Jiro were "at home." They received him in the tiny drawing-room, and the lady's manner betokened some degree of nervousness, which she vainly endeavoured to conceal by a pretence of bland curiosity as to the object of the barrister's visit.

Not so Numagawa, whose sharp ferret eyes snapped with anxiety.

Brett left them under no doubt from the commencement. He addressed his remarks wholly to the Japanese.

"You have an acquaintance—perhaps I should say a confederate—residing at No. 37 Middle Street, Kennington—" he began.

"I do not understand," broke in Jiro, whose sallow face crinkled like a withered apple in the effort to display non-comprehension.

"Oh yes, you do. The man's name is Ooma. He is a tall, strongly-built native of Japan. He sent you to Ipswich to watch the trial of Mr. David Hume-Frazer for the murder of his cousin. He got you to write the post-card to Scotland Yard on the type-writer which you disposed of the day after my visit here. You recognised the motto of his house in the design which I showed you, and which was borne on the blade of the Ko-Katana. For some reason which I cannot fathom, unless you are his accomplice, you made your wife dress in male attire and go to warn him that some person was on his track. You see I know everything."

As each sentence of this indictment proceeded it was pitiable to watch the faces of the couple. Jiro became a grotesque, fit to adorn the ugliest of Satsuma plaques. Mrs. Jiro visibly swelled with agitation. Brett felt that she was too full, and would overflow with tears in an instant.

"This is vely bad!" gasped Jiro.

"Oh, Nummie dear, have we been doing wrong?" moaned his spouse.

The barrister determined to frighten them thoroughly.

"It is a grave question with the authorities whether they should not arrest you instantly," he said.

"On what charge?" cried Jiro.

"On a charge of complicity after the act in relation to the murder of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer. Your accomplice, Ooma, is the murderer."

"What!" shrieked Mrs. Jiro, flouncing on to her knees and breaking forth into piteous sobs. "Oh, my precious infant! Oh, my darling Nummie! Will they part us from our babe?"

The door opened, and a frowsy head appeared.

"Did you call, mum?" inquired the small maid-servant.

"Get out!" shouted Brett; and the door slammed.

"Mr. Blett," whimpered the Japanese, "I did not do this thing. I am innocent. I knew nothing about it until—until—"

"You verified the motto on the blade by consulting the 'Nihon Suai Shi' in the British Museum."

This shot floored Jiro metaphorically, and his wife literally, for she sank into a heap.

"He knows everything, Nummie," she cried.

"Evelything!" repeated her husband.

"Then tell him the rest!". (Yet she was born in Suffolk.)

Brett scowled terribly as a subterfuge for laughter.

"Tell me," he said, "why you helped this amazing scoundrel?"

"I did not help," squeaked Jiro, his voice becoming shrill with excitement and fear. "He was my fliend. He is a Samurai of Japan. We met in Okasaki, and again in London. I came to England long after the clime you talk of. He told me these Flazel people were bad people, who had lobbed his father in the old days. He wanted them to be all hanged, then he would get money. He said they might watch him and get him sent back to Japan, where he belongs to a political palty who are always beheaded when they are caught. So when you come, I think, 'Hello, he wants to find Ooma!' I lite Ooma a letter, and he lite me to send Mrs. Jilo, dlessed in man's clothes, to tell him evelything. I did that to save my fliend."

"Have you Ooma's letter?"

"Yes; hele it is."

He took a document from a drawer, and Brett saw at a glance that Jiro's statement was correct.

"You appear to have acted as his tool throughout," was his scornful comment.

"But, Mr. Brett," sobbed the stout lady, "I ought to say that when I—when I—put on those things—and met Mr. Ooma, I disobeyed my husband in one matter. I—liked you—and was afraid of Mr. Ooma, so instead of describing you to him I described Mr. Hume-Frazer from what my husband told me of his appearance in the dock. He was the first man I could think of, and it seemed to be best, as the quarrel was between them. Only—I gave him—a beard and moustache, so as to puzzle him more. Didn't I, Nummie? I told you when I came home."

So Mrs. Jiro's unconscious device had undoubtedly saved Brett from a murderous attack, and Ooma had probably seen him leave the Northumberland Avenue Hotel more than once whilst waiting to waylay David Hume. Hence, too, the partial recognition by Ooma when they met by night in Middle Street.

The barrister could not help being milder in tone as he said:

"I believe you are both telling the truth. But this is a very serious matter. You must never again communicate with Ooma in any way. Avoid him as you would shun the plague, for within three or four days he will be in gaol, and you will be called upon to give evidence against him."



CHAPTER XXIX

MARGARET'S SECRET

At his chambers Brett found Holden awaiting him, with the tidings that Capella had gone to Whitby. The Italian's agents, Messrs. Matchem & Smith, had evidently ferreted out Margaret's whereabouts. Her husband, full of vengeful thoughts and base schemings, hastened after her, rejoicing in the knowledge that her cousins and Miss Layton would also be present.

"As I knew exactly where he was going, and assumed his object to be a domestic quarrel, I did not think it necessary to accompany him until I had first consulted you, sir," said the imperturbable Holden.

"You acted quite rightly. Wait until the little beast returns to London!" exclaimed the barrister, with some degree of warmth.

Capella's conduct reminded him of a spiteful child which deserved a sound spanking. He telegraphed to Hume to inform him of the fiery visitor who might be expected at the hotel that evening.

Oddly enough, Helen, David, and the Rev. Mr. Layton, tempted by a marine excursion to Scarborough and back, left Whitby Harbour on a local steamer at 11 a.m., and were timed to return about 9 p.m. Margaret was not a good sailor, so Robert Hume-Frazer remained with her, the two going for a protracted stroll along the cliffs.

During their walk, the golden influences of the hour unlocked Margaret's heart. She was overwhelmed with the consciousness of the wretched mistakes of her life. She could not help contrasting the manly, gallant, out-spoken sailor by her side with the miserable foreigner whom she had espoused under the influence of a genuine but too violent passion. The knowledge that Robert might, under happier conditions, have been her husband was crushing and terrible.

There came to her some half-defined resolve to show her cousin how unworthy she was of his affections. Stopping defiantly at a moment when he casually called her attention to a lovely glimpse of rock-bound sea framed in a deep gorge, she said to him:

"Robert, I have something to tell you. I was on the point of telling Mr. Brett the last time I saw him in London, but he would not permit it. You are my cousin, and ought to know."

"My dear girl," he cried, "why this solemnity? You give me shivers when you speak in that way!"

"Pray listen to me, Robert. This is no matter for jesting. I am your cousin, but only in a sense. In the eyes of the law I am a nameless outcast. My mother was not Alan's mother. I was born before my father married the lady who treated me as her daughter until her death. My mother was an Italian, who died at my birth, and whom my father never married."

Frazer looked at the beautiful woman who addressed these astonishing words to him, and amazement, incredulity, a spasm almost of fear, held him dumb.

"It is too true, Robert. I did not know these things until a few short months ago. Some one, I believe, told my husband the truth soon after our marriage, and it was this discovery that so changed his feelings towards me. At first I was utterly unable to explain the awful alteration in his attitude. Not until I returned to England and settled down at Beechcroft did I become aware of the facts."

"Surely, Rita, you are romancing?"

"No, there can be no doubt about it. I have seen the proofs."

"Proofs! How can you be certain? Who made these statements to you?"

"I have been blackmailed, bled systematically for large sums of money. At first I was beguiled into a correspondence. My curiosity was aroused by references to my husband and to my father's will. Finally, I received copies of documents which made matters clear even to my bewildered brain. More than that, I was sent a memorandum, written by my father, in which he gave Alan all the particulars, corroborated by extracts from registers, and explaining the reasons which actuated him in framing his will so curiously. We were never closely knit together, as you know. I think now that he regarded me as the living evidence of the folly of his earlier years, and perhaps my sensitive nature was quick to detect this hidden feeling."

"May I ask who blackmailed you?"

Robert's face grew hard and stern. The woman experienced a tumultuous joy as she saw it. She had at least one defender.

"That is the hard part of my story," she murmured, in a voice broken with emotion. "The correspondence took place with a man named Ooma, a person I never even met at that time, and—can you believe it, Robert—within the past few days I have good reason to know that he is the murderer of my brother, the man who endeavoured to kill both you and David."

Frazer caught her by the shoulder.

"Rita," he said, "what has come to you? Are you hysterical, or dreaming?"

"Oh, for pity's sake, believe me!" she moaned. "Mr. Brett knows it is true. What is worse, he knows that I know it. I cannot bear this terrible secret any longer. I went to this man's house in London the other night, and boldly charged him with the crime. He denied it, but I could see the lie and the fear in his eyes. To avoid a terrible family scandal I came here with you all. But I can bear it no longer. God help me and pity me!"

"He will, Margaret. You have done no wrong that deserves so much suffering."

For a little while there was silence. Frazer was only able to whisper gentle and kindly words of consolation. He would have given ten years of his life to have the right to take her in his arms and tell her that, let the world view her conduct as it would, in his eyes she was blameless and lovable.

But this was denied him. She was the wife of another, of one who, instead of shielding and supporting her, was even then engaged in plotting her ruin.

"I nearly went mad," she continued at last, "when I first became acquainted with the truth concerning my parentage. With calmer moments came the reflection that, after all, I was my father's child, the sister of Alan, and entitled morally, if not legally, to succeed to the property. My wealth has not benefited me, Robert, but at least I have tried to do good to others."

"You have, indeed," he said tenderly. "But tell me about this fiend, Ooma. You say you saw him. Then you were in possession of his address?"

"Yes, during the past five months. When Mr. Brett first appeared on the scene, I feared lest he should discover my secret. How could I connect it with the death of my brother? The explanation given to me was that the documents were purloined by a servant years ago. It was not until the attacks on you and Davie, and the chance mention he made of some curious marks in a type-written communication received by Mr. Winter, that a horrible suspicion awoke in my mind. I had received several type-written letters" (Mr. Jiro, it would appear, had not told "evelything" to Brett), "and I compared some of those in London with the description given by Davie. They corresponded exactly! Then I resolved to make sure, no matter what the risk to myself, so I went to a place in Kennington the last night we were in town, and there I saw Ooma. Oh, Robert, he is so like you and Davie that at first it seems to be a romance! Only you two look honest and brave, whereas he has the appearance of a demon."

Frazer looked at his watch.

"Brett ought to know all these things at once," he said. "Let us walk back to the hotel and wire him. Perhaps it will be necessary for David and me to return to London immediately."

"Why? You are safe here? Why should you incur further risk?"

He could not help looking at her. A slight colour suffused her face. Then he laughed savagely.

"There will be no risk, Rita. Once let me meet Mr. Ooma as man to man and I will teach him a trick or two, if only for your sake. The law will deal with him for Alan's affair. He has an odd name! It has a Japanese ring, yet you say he resembles our family?"

Margaret, of course, could only describe him in general terms. As they returned to the hotel she explained her strange story in greater detail, largely on the lines already known to Brett.

In the office they found a telegram addressed to David, but his cousin opened it, believing it might be from Brett. It was, and read as follows:—

"Capella arrives Whitby five o'clock. I know everything he has to tell you. If he becomes offensive, boot him."

Robert did not show the message to his cousin. He gave her its general purport, and added:

"Prepare yourself for an ordeal, but be brave. Perhaps your husband is in the hotel now, as he must have reached here half an hour ago."

He had barely uttered the words when Mrs. Capella's maid approached.

"Mr. Capella is here, madam," she said "and awaits you in your sitting-room."

Margaret became, if possible, a shade whiter.

"What about you, Robert?" she whispered.

"Me! I am going with you. Brett's telegram is my authority."



CHAPTER XXX

HUSBAND AND WIFE

The Italian was glaring out of a window when they entered the room.

He turned instantly, with a waspish ferocity.

"So, madam." he cried, "not content with deceiving me from the first moment we met, you have left your home in company with your lover!"

Margaret looked at Robert beseechingly. The sailor's face was like granite. Only his eyes flashed a warning that Capella might have noted were he less blinded by passion.

"Do not attempt to shield yourself by the presence of others!" screamed Capella. "I know that Miss Layton and her father are here. That is part of the game you play. As for you, Mr. David Hume, or whatever you call yourself, your own record is not so clean that you should endeavour to cloak the misdeeds of others."

The Italian had never before seen Robert to his knowledge. He only met David for a few moments during an angry scene at Beechcroft, when Brett did most of the talking. The mistake he now made was a natural one.

"It does not occur to you," said Robert, in a voice remarkable for its calmness, "that not content with grossly insulting your wife, you are attacking the reputation of a man whom you do not know."

"Pooh!" Capella, in his excitement, snapped his fingers. "You Hume-Frazers are very fond of defending your reputations. A fig for them! You are not worthy to consort with honourable people. I feel assured that when Mr. Layton and his daughter know the truth about you they will decline to associate with you."

Whatever else might be urged against the Italian, he was no coward. Such language might well have led to a fierce attack on him by a man so greatly his superior in physical strength. But Robert sat down, near the door.

"You have some object in coming here to-day," he said. "What is it?"

Margaret remained standing near the fire-place. Capella produced a bundle of papers.

"I am here," he said, "to unmask the woman who unfortunately bears my name, and at the same time to prevent you from getting Miss Layton to marry you under false pretences."

"A worthy programme!" observed Frazer suavely. "You may attain the second part of your scheme, I admit, but the first seems to be difficult."

"Is it? We shall see!"

Capella flourished his papers and began a passionate avowal of the "treachery" practised on him in the matter of Margaret's parentage, ending by saying:

"That woman's mother was the affianced bride of my father. She deceived him basely. On his death-bed he made me vow my lifelong hatred of her betrayer and all his descendants. To you, a cold-blooded Englishman, that perhaps means nothing. To me it is sacred, imperishable, dearer than life. And to think that I have been tricked into a marriage with the daughter of the man who was my father's enemy. How mad I was not to make inquiries! What a poor, short-sighted fool! But I will have my revenge! I will expose your accursed race in the courts! I will not rest content until I am free from this snare!"

Margaret would have spoken, but her cousin quickly forestalled her.

"You bring two charges against your wife," Robert said. "The first is that she deceived you before marriage; the second that she is deceiving you now. You contemplate taking divorce proceedings against her?"

"I do."

"But you are lying on both counts. There is no purer or more honourable woman alive to-day than she who stands here at this moment. You are a mean and despicable hound to endeavour to take advantage of circumstances attending her birth of which she was in profound ignorance."

"She can tell that to a judge," sneered the Italian. "I know better."

Robert rose, his face white with anger.

"Margaret," he said, "you have heard your precious husband's views with regard to you. What do you say?"

She looked from one to the other—no one knows what tumultuous thoughts coursed through her brain in that trying moment—and she answered:

"I am his true and faithful wife, Robert. I have never been otherwise in word or deed."

Capella started, as well he might, when he heard the Christian name of the man who was treating him with such quiet scorn.

"So," he laughed maliciously, "I have again been fooled. You are not David, but—"

Frazer strode towards him, and the words died away on his lips.

"Listen, you blackguard!" he hissed. "Were it not for the presence of your wife I would choke the miserable life out of you. Go! We have done with you! You have unmasked your real character, and I cannot believe that a spark of affection can remain in your wife's heart for you after your ignoble conduct. Go, I tell you! Do your worst. Spit your venom elsewhere than in this hotel. But first let me warn you. If you dare to approach Miss Layton, I cannot promise that my cousin David will treat you as tenderly as I propose to do. He will probably thrash you until you are unconscious. I simply place you outside this room."

He grabbed the Italian by the breast with his right hand, lifted him high in the air, gathered the papers from the table in his left hand, and carried his kicking, cursing, but helpless adversary to the door.

Then he set him down again, opened the door, and remembering Brett's advice, assisted him outside, flinging the documents after him and closing the door.

With impotent rage in his heart, Capella rushed from the hotel and caught the last train to the south. He had not been in Whitby two hours, but he was now embarked upon his vengeful mission, and bitterly resolved to push it to the uttermost extremity.

Margaret had not uttered a sound during the final scene. She stood as one turned to stone. Robert did not dare to speak to her. How could he offer consolation to a woman whose tenderest feelings had been so wantonly outraged?

"Robert," she said at last, "he spoke of getting a divorce. I believe he can do this by Italian law. Here it should be impossible."

"In that case," he said calmly, "you and I will go and live in Italy."

She placed her hands before her face, and burst into a tempest of tears.

"Now, my dear girl," he murmured, "try and forget that pitiful rascal and his threats. You are well rid of him. I will leave you now for a little while. In half an hour we will go and listen to the band until dinner. Really, we have had a most enjoyable afternoon."

He went out, placid and smiling, and Margaret sobbed plentifully—until it became necessary to go to her room and remove the traces of her grief. So it may be assumed that her tears were not all occasioned by grief for the contemplated loss of her ill-chosen mate.

When the others returned from their excursion, Frazer explained to them all that was needful with reference to Capella's visit. Helen was very outspoken in her indignation, and even the rector condemned the Italian's conduct in plain terms.

He warmly approved of the resolution arrived at by Robert and David to return to London next day, and not leave Brett until a definite stage had been reached in the strangely intricate inquiry they were embarked on.

They sat late into the night, discussing the pros and cons of the situation; yet among these five people, fully cognisant as they were of nearly every fact known to the able barrister who had taken charge of their affairs, not one even remotely guessed the pending sequel.

Whilst they were talking and hoping for some favourable outcome, the night express from York was hurrying Capella to a weird conclusion of his efforts to discredit his wife. Had he but known what lay before him he would have left the train at the first station and hastened to Margaret, to grovel at her feet and beg her forgiveness for the foul aspersions cast upon her.

It was too late.



CHAPTER XXXI

TO BEECHCROFT

Thenceforth, as the French say, events marched. Robert Frazer faithfully recounted Margaret's statement to the barrister and the detective. The "documents," copies of which Ooma sent to the ill-fated woman whose sudden accession to wealth had proved so unlucky for her, were evidently those stolen from the drawer in the writing-desk at Beechcroft.

Here, at last, was the motive of the murder laid bare.

The Japanese, by some inscrutable means, became aware that the young baronet possessed these papers, and held them in terrorem over his reputed sister. In the hands of a third person, an outsider, they were endowed with double powers for mischief. He could threaten the woman with exposure, the man with the revelation of a discreditable family secret.

He visited the library in order to commit the theft, probably acting with greater daring because he mistook the sleeping David for his cousin. Having successfully wrenched open the drawer and secured the papers, still holding in his hand the instrument used for slipping back the tiny lock, he turned to leave the room by the open window, and was suddenly confronted by the real Sir Alan, who recognised him and guessed his object in being present at that hour.

Brett had gone thus far in his spoken commentary on the affair as it now presented itself to his mind when Winter asked:

"Why do you say 'recognised' him, Mr. Brett? We have no evidence that Sir Alan had ever seen Ooma?"

"What, none? Search through your memory. Did not the stationmaster see a third David Hume leave the station that day when the movements of only two are known to us. What became of this third personage during the afternoon? Where did he change into evening dress? Why did Sir Alan leave documents of such grave importance in so insecure a hiding-place?"

"There is no use in asking me questions I can't answer," snapped the detective.

"Perhaps not. I think you said that you amused yourself in your Middle Street lodgings by taking to pieces a small electrical machine fitted together by your companion?"

"Yes, sir; but what of that?"

"Let us suppose that, instead of a complex machine he built a small arch of toy bricks, and you were well acquainted with the model whilst each brick was numbered in rotation, don't you think you could manage to reconstruct the arch after repeated efforts?"

"I expect so."

"Well, my dear Winter, we have now got together every material stone in our edifice. Mrs. Capella's yielding to blackmail is the keystone of the arch. Every loose block fits at once into its proper place. The Japanese, Ooma, must have met Sir Alan and discussed this very question with him. The baronet must have unwittingly revealed the family secret, and the Jap was clever enough to perceive its value. Further, the murder was unpremeditated, the inspiration of a desperate moment, and the weapon selected shows a sort of fiendish mandate suggested by family feud. Ooma is undoubtedly—"

But Smith entered, apologetic, doubtful.

"Mr. Holden is here, sir, and says he wishes to see you immediately."

Holden's news was important. Capella had left Liverpool Street half an hour ago for Beechcroft, and in the same train travelled Ooma.

"Are you sure of this?" demanded Brett, excitedly springing from his chair.

"Quite certain, sir. Mr. Winter's mate followed him to the station, and told me who the Japanese was. Besides, no one could mistake him who had ever seen either of these two gentlemen."

He indicated Robert and David.

"Quick," shouted the barrister. "We must all catch the next train to Stowmarket. Winter, have you your handcuffs? This time they may be needed. Smith, run and call two hansoms."

He rushed to a bureau and produced a couple of revolvers. He handed one to Holden.

"I can trust you," he said, "not to fire without reason. Do not shoot to kill. If this man threatens the life of any person, maim him if possible, but try to avoid hitting him in the head or body."

To the Frazers he handed the heaviest sticks he possessed. He himself pocketed the second revolver, and picked up the peculiar walking-stick which Ooma dropped in Northumberland Avenue.

"Now," he said, "let us be off. We have no time to lose, and we must get to Beechcroft with the utmost speed."

Winter and he entered the same hansom.

"Why are you so anxious to prevent Capella and Ooma meeting, sir?" asked the detective, as their vehicle sped along Victoria Street.

"I do not care whether they meet or not," was the emphatic reply. "It is now imperatively necessary that the Japanese should be placed where he can do no further harm. The man is a human tiger. He must be caged. If all goes well, Winter, this case will pass out of my hands into yours within the next three hours."

The detective smiled broadly. At last he saw his way clearly, or thought he saw it, which is often not quite the same thing. In the present instance he little dreamed the nature of the path he would follow. But he was so gratified that he could not long maintain silence, though Brett was obviously disinclined to talk.

"By Jove," he gurgled, "this will be the case of the year."

The barrister replied not.

"I suppose, Mr. Brett," continued Winter, with well-affected concern, "you will follow your usual policy, and decide to keep your connection with the affair hidden?"

"Exactly, and you will follow your usual policy of claiming all the credit under the magic of the words 'from information received.'"

Winter could afford to be generous.

"Mr. Brett," he cried, "there is no man would be so pleased as I to see you come out of your shell, and tell the Court all you have done. You deserve it. It would be the proudest moment of your life."

Then the barrister laughed.

"You have known me for years, Winter," he said, "yet you believe that. Go to! You are incorrigible!"

The detective did not trouble to extract the exact meaning from this remark. He understood that Brett would never think of entering the witness-box. That was all he wanted to know.

"Are you quite certain," he asked, with a last tinge of anxiety in his voice, "that Ooma will be arrested to-day?"

"Quite certain, if we can accomplish that highly desirable task."

Winter pounded the door of the hansom with his clenched fist

"Then it is done!" he cried. "I'll truss him up like a fowl. If he tries any tricks I'll borrow the leg-chains from Stowmarket police station."

At Liverpool Street they all made a hasty meal. They caught the last train from London and passed two weary hours until Stowmarket was reached.

There on the platform stood the station-master. He approached Brett and whispered:

"A man who came here by the preceding train told me that you and some other gentlemen might possibly follow on. He intended to telegraph to you, but he asked me, in case you turned up, to tell you that the Japanese has gone on foot to Beechcroft, and that Mr. Capella has not arrived."

"Not arrived!" cried Brett. He turned to Holden. "Can you have been mistaken?"

Holden shook his head. "I saw him with my own eyes," he asseverated, "and to make sure of his destination I asked the ticket examiner where the gentleman in the first smoker was going to. It was Stowmarket, right enough."

"There can be no error, sir," put in the stationmaster. "Mr. Capella's valet came by the train, and assured me that he left London with his master. Besides, the carriage is here from the Hall. It was ordered by telegraph. There is the valet himself. He imagines that Mr. Capella quitted the train on the way, and will arrive by this one. But there is no sign of him."

The mention of the carriage brought a look of decision into the barrister's face.

"One more question," he said to the official. "Did you see the person described as the Japanese?"

"Yes, sir, I did. As a matter of fact, I thought it was somebody else. It was not until the stranger who arrived by the train used that name to distinguish him that I understood I was mistaken."

The stationmaster looked into Brett's eyes that which he did not like to say in the presence of the Frazers. Of course, he had fallen into the same error as most people who only obtained a casual glimpse of Ooma.

Brett hurried his companions outside the station. There they found the Beechcroft carriage, and a puzzled valet holding parley with the coachman and footman. David Hume's authority was sufficient to secure the use of the vehicle, and Brett made the position easier for the men by saying that, in all probability, they would find fresh instructions awaiting them at the Hall.

Before the party drove off Winter noticed a local sergeant of police standing near.

"Shall I ask him to come with us, sir?" he said to Brett.

The barrister considered the point for an instant before replying:

"Perhaps it would be better, as we have not got a warrant."

Winter grinned broadly again.

"Oh yes, we have," he cried. "Mr. Ooma's warrant has been in my breast-pocket for three days."

"What a thoughtful fellow you are," murmured Brett. "In that case we can dispense with local assistance. We five can surely tackle any man living."

"What can have become of Capella?" said David Hume, when they were all seated and bowling along the road to Beechcroft.

"It is impossible to say what such a mad ass would be up to," commented his cousin. "He has probably gone back to London from some wayside station, and failed to find his servant to tell him before the train moved on."

"What do you think, Mr. Brett?" inquired Winter.

"I can form no opinion. I only wish Ooma was in gaol. For once, Winter, I appreciate the strength of your handcuffing policy."



CHAPTER XXXII

THE FIGHT

It was almost dark by the time they reached the lodge gates. Brett, moved by impulse, stopped the carriage in the main road. The others alighted after him. Mrs. Crowe, the lodge-keeper's wife, opened the gates, and evidently wondered why the carriage did not enter.

"Good evening, Mrs. Crowe," said Brett, advancing. "Have you seen a telegraph messenger recently?"

"Lawk, sir," she cried, "I didn't recognise you in the gloom! No, sir, there's been no messenger, only—"

Then she uttered a startled exclamation.

"Why, there's Mr. David an' Mr. Robert! I could ha' sworn one of you gentlemen walked up to the house five minutes ago, an' I wunnered you never took no notice of me. Well, of all the strange things!"

"It was a natural mistake," said the barrister quietly.

Then he told the coachman to wait where he was until a message reached him from the house.

He did not want to disturb the visitor who had caused Mrs. Crowe to "wunner," nor was there any use in sending the carriage back to Stowmarket. Somehow, he felt that Capella would not come to Beechcroft that night.

The five men went rapidly and silently up the avenue. As they approached the lighted library, they could see a servant parleying with the Japanese.

A motion of Brett's hand brought the party into the shade of the sombre yews.

"You and Holden," he said to Hume, "go round to the main entrance, proceed at once to the library door, enter the room, and lock the door behind you. Be ready with your stick, and do not hesitate to lunge hard if Ooma attacks you. You, Holden, keep the revolver handy. It must only be used to save life. The moment you appear at the door we will rush to the window, which is open. Ooma must have entered that way. You both understand?"

They nodded and walked off, clinging to the line of the trees. The others closed up. Timing their approach with perfect judgment, they crept over the gravelled road at the bend, and gained the turf in front of the window.

Ooma's back was towards them. They could hear his voice—a queer, high-pitched, yet strident voice—whilst he questioned a somewhat scared footman as to the whereabouts of his mistress.

The man had evidently perceived the remarkable resemblance borne by this uncanny stranger to the Frazer family. His replies were respectful, but stuttering. He was alarmed by those fierce eyes, more especially because his inability to give satisfactory information seemed to anger the new-comer.

"You are not a child," they heard Ooma say, with menace in his tone. "You must have heard, from her maid or some other source, where Mrs. Capella has gone to?"

"N—no, sir," stammered the man. "I really 'aven't I t—t—thought Mrs. C—Capella was in London. The b—butler says we are all to 'ave a 'oliday next week."

"Is there no way in which I can find out where your mistress is at this moment? I must see her. My business is important. It cannot wait. It is of the utmost importance to her."

Brett, straining without like a hound in the leash, could note a slight accentuation in the perfect English spoken by Ooma. There was just a suspicion of the liquid "r" so strongly marked in Jiro's utterance. What an uncanny thing is heredity! It even alters the shape of the roof of the mouth. The Japanese of English descent could necessarily pronounce English better than the pure-born native.

The servant within seemed to rack his brains for a favourable reply.

"You might ask Mr. Capella, sir," he said at length, with some degree of returning confidence. "He was expected here by the last train, but missed it in London, I expect. He is sure to come to-night, and he will tell you, if you care to wait."

"Mr. Capella! Coming by the last train! What is he like?"

"Do you mean in appearance, sir? He is a small, dark-complexioned gentleman, with wavy black hair and a very pale face. He—"

But Ooma turned away from the man, and looked through the window, with the lambent glare of a wild animal in his eyes. He instantly saw the three motionless figures, Brett, Winter, and Robert Hume-Frazer.

They sprang forward. Robert was quickest, and reached the open window first. The Japanese jumped back and made for the door, but it opened in his face, and David entered the room. Behind him was Holden, who made no secret of the fact that he carried a revolver.

Ooma caught the astounded man-servant by the waist, lifted him as though he were a truss of straw, and threw him bodily at Robert Frazer and Winter, bringing both to the ground by this singular weapon.

It was a fatal mistake to attack the readiest means of exit. Had he used his human battering ram against Holden and David he might have escaped. But now he looked into the muzzle of another revolver, and heard Brett's stern demand:

"Hands up, Ooma! If you move you are a dead man?"

Nevertheless, he did move. He seemed to have the agility as well as the semblance of a carnivorous animal. He bounded sideways towards the wall of the library, picked up the writing-desk, and barricaded himself behind it. In the same second he produced a small, shining article from his waistcoat pocket, and shouted, in a voice now cracked with rage:

"Stand back, all of you. You may shoot me! I will not be arrested!"

Winter, swearing, scrambled from the floor. Robert, too, threw off the yelling servant, and rose to his feet. Alarmed not only by the curious entry made by David Hume and Holden, but also by the racket in the library, other servants were now clamouring at the locked door, for Holden had slipped his left hand behind him and turned the key. Brett similarly closed the window. They were five to one, but the one seemed to defy them.

"That be blowed for a tale!" roared the infuriated detective, whose blood was fired by the manner in which he had been floored. "I arrest you in the King's name for the murder of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, and I warn you—"

Robert Hume-Frazer waited for no preliminary explanation of an official character. He wanted to feel that man's bones crack under his grasp. He had the strong man's ambition to close with an opponent worthy of his thews and sinews. Without any warning, he made for the Japanese, who seemed to await his oncoming with singular equanimity, though otherwise quivering with baulked hate.

But Brett had seen something that aroused a lightning-like suspicion. Twice had the Japanese looked at a small, shining thing in his hand, as though to make sure it was there. So the barrister was just in time to grasp Robert's shoulder and hold him back.

"No," he cried, "you must not touch him. I command it. He cannot escape."

"Then let me have a go at him first," growled Frazer, whose face was pale with passion.

"No, no. Leave him to me. Winter, do you hear me? Stand back, I say."

Brett's imperative tone brooked no disobedience. Thus, in a segment of a circle, the five enclosed the one against the wall—Ooma barricaded by the table, the others ready to defeat any stratagem he might endeavour to put in force.

"Now listen to me, Ooma," said the barrister sternly. "You must drop that thing you have in your right hand. You must hold both your hands high above your head. If you move either of them again I will shoot you. If you do not obey me before I count five I will shoot you. One! Two! Three!—"

The Japanese, gasping a horrible sort of sob, three times plunged the instrument he held into his left arm. Then he flung it straight at Robert. One would have thought his vengeance would be directed against Brett, whom he must have credited by this time with his capture.

No; he singled out a Hume-Frazer for his last attack. The instrument struck a button on Robert's coat and fell to the floor, where it lay twisted out of shape by the force of the impact.

It was a hypodermic syringe.

Again Ooma uttered that weird cry.

"This is the end," he said. "You have not beaten me. It is Fate."

He folded his arms and looked at them. A change came over his face. He was no longer a tiger at bay, but a human being, calm, dignified, almost impressive.

"I arrest you—" began Winter.

"You fool!" laughed the Japanese, with a quiet contempt in his tone; "I shall be dead in twenty minutes. That syringe contained snake poison, the undiluted venom of the karait. Put away your pistols. They are not wanted."

Quite nonchalantly he leaned back against the bookcase that lined the wall. He turned his eyes to Robert.

"You have the luck of your race," he said "If that point had reached your skin no human skill could have saved you. As it is, you are spared, and I must go. The same blood flows in our veins, yet you are my enemy. I wish I could once get my fingers round your throat before my strength fails."

"Come from behind that table and try," was the quick rejoinder.

Ooma made to accept the challenge, but Brett intervened.

"If you are telling the truth," he said, "you can spend your brief remaining span of life to better purpose than in a mad combat with one who has done you no harm. Where is Capella?"

"I killed him," was the cool reply.

The footman, who had slowly regained his senses, uttered a groan of horror. By this time several men, not alone house servants, but gardeners, grooms, and others, had gathered on the lawn.

"Send away that slave," cried Ooma impatiently, "and tell those others to go to their kennels. This is no place for such."

Brett knew that the Japanese was in truth about to die. Afterwards Winter and Holden confessed that they thought the pretence of injecting snake poison was a mere ruse to gain time. Robert and David intuitively agreed with the barrister. It was in their breed to know when eternity yawned for one of them. The very calmness of the criminal, his magnificent apathy, his dislike of vulgar witnesses, foreboded a tragedy.

Brett motioned to Holden to open the door, and the footman gladly made his escape. In response to a wave of the barrister's arm the other servants disappeared from view, though they probably only retreated to a greater distance, and could see well enough all that happened.

"Yes," continued Ooma, "I killed Capella. It was a mistake. Everything is a mistake. It was foolish on my part to kill Alan Hume-Frazer, even though he was my enemy. I should have let him live, and tortured him by fear. You English dread these scandals worse than death. We Japanese fear neither. For I am a Japanese, and I am proud of it, although my ancestor was David Hume of Glen Tochan, who fought and killed the man who robbed his father."

"But how and why did you kill Capella?" asked Brett.

"I saw him in the station at London. He followed me. I puzzled him, I suppose. He perceived the likeness between me and my dear cousins. We are like one another, are we not, we Hume-Frazers?"

He laughed mirthlessly, and stared at David and Robert alternately. Winter broke in with a hasty question:

"If he is speaking the truth about the snake poison, shouldn't we send for a doctor?"

No one had thought of this previously. Brett reproached himself for his forgetfulness. So strange are our civilised notions that we strive to save a man's life in order to hang him by due process at law.

It was Ooma who answered.

"Doctor!" he cried. "Bring him! Bring the whole College of Surgeons. They can watch me die, and tell you learnedly why the blood curdles and the heart refuses to act, but not all their science can beat the venom of the little karait. It is an Indian snake, more deadly than the cobra, with mightier tooth than the tiger. I meant to use that syringe on the whole cursed brood of Frazers in this country. No one would have known what happened to them. But look you, Fate is too powerful. The karait stored his poison for me only. I killed only one of the race, and him I stabbed with a Ko-Katana of my own house."

Holden left the room to send a messenger post-haste for the village doctor.

"About Capella?" persisted Brett.

"Ah, Capella. He sought his own death. He looked at me so oddly that I thought him a spy. I was alone in a carriage when, half-way here, he ran along the platform at a small station and joined me. He began to question me. I looked out of the window and saw that we were coming to a viaduct over a stream between deep cliffs, so I took the little man and cracked his neck. Then I flung him over the bridge. It was a mistake. He should have left me alone."

He described this cold-blooded murder of the unfortunate Italian with the weary air of one who recites a tedious episode. The lids drooped heavily over his eyes.

"I am tired," he said. "That was a good little snake. He knew his business. He could make the best of poison."

"Surely," said the barrister solemnly, "you are not so utterly inhuman that at the very point of death you still maintain the attitude of a disappointed avenger. What wrong had all these people done you to demand your murderous hate?"

Ooma seemed for a moment to rouse himself from lethargy. Once again the black eyes sparkled with their menacing gleam.

"It is you," he cried, "you, the thinker, who question me. I never gave a thought to you, or I would not now be slowly sinking into death. I might have guessed that a higher intelligence was at work than that which saw the Ko-Katana with its motto, and yet failed to read its story. You ask my motives. Can a man explain heredity? Here"—and he threw a packet of papers on the writing-desk—"are the proofs of my identity. It is not long ago, only one hundred and fifty years, since David Hume was robbed of his birthright, and what is such a period to the old families of England and Japan? There are men living in Japan to-day who saw his son in the flesh. I am his lawful descendant. I came to England and resolved to be an Englishman. But I needed money. Do you remember our motto, 'A new field gives a small crop'? The first Japanese Hume did not prosper. He was a good fighter, but he saved no yen. So I applied to my family. I came here on the New Year's Eve, and Sir Alan Hume-Frazer saw me walking up the avenue. He stepped out through that window to meet me. He was surprised at my appearance, and thought I was his cousin Robert, whom he had not seen for years."

At this remarkable statement the four listeners chiefly concerned looked wonderingly at each other. The main incidents of the family feud were repeating themselves in a ghostly manner.

Ooma paid no heed to their amazement. He staggered unsteadily to a chair and sank into it limply. It was the chair which David Hume occupied when he slept, and dreamed. Not even Winter saw cause for suspicion in the act. Ooma was dying. His yellow skin was now green. His lips were white. His whole frame was sinking. At this phase he became a Japanese, and lost all likeness to the Frazers.

He continued, with an odd cackle:

"I kept up the error. I demanded money as my right, and from his words I gathered that the Frazers had been at their old tricks and defrauded another relative."

Robert started.

"Do you hear?" he murmured to Brett. "That accounts for Alan's strange reception of me the same day."

Brett held up a warning hand. Ooma was still talking.

"I taunted him with thriving on the plunder of his own people. That made him furious. He raved about the world being in league against him. The only relative he loved, one who was more than brother, had stolen the woman he wished to marry; his sister was a living lie; his cousin a blackmailer. I laughed. 'Do you disown your sister, then?' I asked. He took from his breast-pocket some papers—you will find them there, on the table—and told me, in great anger, that he possessed proof that she was not his sister. I was cooler than he, and saw the value of this admission I pretended to go away, but hid among the trees and saw him walk about the library for nearly an hour. I meant to enter the house if an opportunity presented itself, and, trusting to my appearance, go to his bedroom, if he changed his clothes and went out. But he helped me by placing the papers in the drawer which I afterwards broke open. I saw him meet you"—he feebly pointed to Robert. "I saw you arrive in the carriage," and he indicated David. "Then I determined to wait until the night I went back to Stowmarket, where I left a portmanteau at a small hotel"—Brett knew that Winter stole a look at him, but he ignored the fact—"and changed my clothes. In England, at night, a man in evening dress can enter almost any house. When I returned I carried my bag with me, as I did not know how I might wish to get away subsequently. I saw the preparations for the ball. They helped me. David Hume's unexpected appearance at midnight upset my plans. Waiting near the gate, I witnessed Alan's meeting with a girl in a white dress. Whilst they were talking, I ran up to the house and found David asleep in the library. I resolved to act boldly. Even he would not know what to do if he suddenly discovered another Frazer in the room. To force open the drawer I picked up the Japanese sword, and knew it as belonging to my house by the device on the handle of the Ko-Katana. The thing inspired me. I obtained the papers, and was going out when I met Alan. He had seen what I was doing. He called me a cur, and the memory of my ancestor's vengeance rushed on me, so I struck him with the knife, and left it resting in his heart as he fell. Afterwards it was easy. No one knew me. Those who had seen me thought that I was either David or Robert Hume-Frazer. I depended on the police and the servants to complete the mystery. They did. I saw David meet the same girl in a white dress near the lodge, so I sent the post-card which I made Jiro write for me. He wrote it badly, which was all the better for my purpose. I meant David to be hanged by the law; then I would marry Margaret. That is all. Give me some brandy. I am dreaming now. I can see curling shapes. Ah!"

He gulped down half a tumblerful of raw spirits hastily procured by Brett. Again he attempted to shake off the torpid state that was slowly mastering him. He lifted his eyes feebly to Brett's face, and his face contorted in a ghastly smile.

"You!" he croaked. "I should have killed you! You carried my stick that night in Middle Street. Why was I not warned? Did you follow the girl from the hotel? I was a fool. I tried to stop the inquiry by getting rid of David Hume-Frazer. As if he had brains enough to get on my track! About that girl! She believes in me. She does not know anything of my past. Do not tell her. Try to help her. She is coarse, one of the people, as you say here, but she has courage and is faithful. Help her!"

His head drooped. The action of the brandy, whilst momentarily stimulating the heart, helped the stupefaction of the brain. It was a question of a minute, perhaps two.

"Why did you come here to-day?" asked Brett quickly.

"To see Margaret She would give me money. I was going away. That man—I threw from the train—was her husband? He was not—a proper mate—for a Frazer—or a Hume. We are—an old race—of soldiers. We know—how to die. Four of us—fell fighting—in Japan. I am dying! What a pity!"

His head sank lower. His breath grew faint His voice died away in unintelligible words. After a brief silence he spoke again.

The words he used were Japanese. In his weakened consciousness all he could recollect was the language he learnt from his Japanese mother—the mother he despised when he became a man and knew his history.

Winter and Brett were now holding him. The others drew apart. They afterwards confessed that the death of this murderer, this tiger-cub of their race, affected them greatly. He was fearless to the end. The way in which he quitted life became him more than the manner in which he lived.

There was a bustle without, and the local doctor entered. He looked wise, profound, even ventured on a sceptical remark when the barrister explained that Ooma had injected snake-poison into his arm. But he lifted the eyelids of the figure in the chair and glanced at the pupils.

"Whatever the cause of death may be, he is undoubtedly dead!" was his verdict.



CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LAST NOTE IN BRETT'S DIARY

Winter and Holden were invaluable during the trying hours that followed. Acting in conjunction with the local police, they caused a search to be made for Capella's body. It was found easily enough. Only once did the line cross such a place as that described by Ooma, and a bruised and battered corpse was taken out of the boulder-strewn stream beneath the viaduct.

Meanwhile Winter, writing from Brett's dictation, drew up a complete statement of all the facts retailed by the Japanese in relation to the murders of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer and the unfortunate Italian.

This they signed, and went to obtain the signatures of the two cousins, Holden, and the man-servant, for whom a special short statement had been prepared.

"This is for use at the coroner's inquest, I suppose?" inquired David.

"Yes," said Brett. "We must seize that opportunity to publish all the evidence needed to thoroughly acquit you of suspicion in relation to your cousin's death. By prior consultation with the coroner we can, if you think fit, keep out of the inquiry all allusions to Mrs. Capella."

"It would certainly be the best thing to do," agreed David, "especially in view of the fact that Robert and I have burnt those beastly papers."

He pointed to some shivering ashes in the grate of the drawing-room, for Ooma occupied the library in the last solemn stateliness of his final appearance on earth.

"What!" cried Brett. "Do you mean to say that you have destroyed the documents deposited by the Japanese on the writing-desk?"

"Not exactly all," was the cool reply. "We picked out those referring to Margaret, and made an end of them. We hope to be able to do the same with regard to papers discovered on Capella's body or among his belongings. Those bearing on Ooma himself are here"—and he pointed to a small packet, neatly tied up, reposing on the mantelpiece.

"You have done a somewhat serious thing."

"We don't care a cent about that. Robert and I have both agreed that what Margaret has she keeps. There may, in course of time, be very good reason for this action. Anyhow, I have acted to please myself, and my father will, I am sure, approve of what I have done."

Brett shook his head. No lawyer could approve of these rough-and-ready settlements of important family affairs.

"Has anyone telegraphed to Mrs. Capella?" he inquired.

"Yes," said Robert, "I did. I just said 'Ooma dead; Capella reported seriously ill. Remain in Whitby. I will join you to-morrow evening.' That, I thought, was enough for a start."

It certainly was.

Soon there came excited messages from both Margaret and Helen demanding more details, whereupon Brett, who knew that suspense was more unbearable than full knowledge, sent a fairly complete account of occurrences.

During the next few days there was the usual commotion in the Press that follows the opening up of the secret records of a great and mysterious crime.

It came as a tremendous surprise to David Hume-Frazer to learn how many people were convinced of his innocence "all the time." Being the central figure in the affair, he was compelled to remain at Beechcroft until Capella and Ooma were interred, and the coroner's jury, at a deferred inquest, had recorded their verdict that the wretched Japanese descendant of the Scottish Jacobite was not only doubly a murderer, but guilty of the heinous crime of felo de se.

Brett, in the interim, saw to the despatch of the Italian witnesses back to Naples. These good people did not know why they had been brought to England, but they returned to their sunny land fully persuaded that the English were both very rich and very foolish.

Winter, in accordance with Brett's promise, secured a fresh holiday towards the close of August, and had the supreme joy of shooting over a well-stocked Scotch moor.

At last, one day in September, Brett was summoned to Whitby to assist at a family conclave.

He found that Margaret was firm in her resolve never again to live at Beechcroft. She and Robert intended to get married early in the New Year and sail forthwith for the Argentine, where, with the help of his wife's money, Robert Hume-Frazer could develop his magnificent estate.

THE END