suppressed mirth, and nothing made the Great Baba so wrath-except contradiction-as laughing at him) that he did not know one goose from another; nothing would satisfy the exacting in. fant, or induce him to retire to his couch until Gresham had passed his word that he would visit the farmyard and investigate this weighty matter that very night.

Out of which absurd agreement a strange event came to pass, which set many minds at work, and added the glamour of mystery to the gloom that already shadowed Halcombe Hall.

After the ladies had retired that night Gresham bethought him of his promise, which could fortunately be kept in all its integrity by the young men's visiting the curate, and smoking a pipe with him at the Manor Farm, as they often did. After an hour's chat and smoke, they were returning through the shrubbery, when Gresham suddenly stopped, and pointed out to his friend that, though the rest of the house was in darkness, there was a light in Sir Robert's dressing-room.

But why should there not be?' inquired Mayne.

'I know Lady Arden has never entered the room since my uncle left us,' returned Gresham. And she told Evelyn that she never- -Good Heavens look yonder.'

'What is it? I see three windows lighted up instead of only two.'

-a

That is just the wonder of it. There are only two windows to all appearance in that dressing-room, though there are three when looked at from outside. The third gives light to only what is called the "Priest's Hole "hiding place, no doubt, for the family confessor in the Jacobite times. Its very existence is unknown, except to the members of the family. One has to stand on the broad window-ledge, and open a sort of cupboard with a spring. Sir Robert keeps his private papers there, I believe.'

'No, no,' interrupted Gresham, hastily; don't speak, don't move. We must get at the bottom of this; no woman could have reached the place without great difficulty; see, that is a man's shadow.'

'By Jingo, so it is,' exclaimed the other. The head and shoulders of a

man with one projecting arm, as though he were taking something from this secret repository, could be now distinctly seen. Then the candle that had revealed him was suddenly extinguished and all was dark again.

'There's a thief in the house,' whispered Gresham, in great excitement; and I am sure it is none of its inmates. He must therefore break cover somewhere or another; either at the back or front; if you run round to the stable yard, I will stand here, and we will give the alarm to one another. Walk softly on the grass, and -hush, listen! By Jove, there he is.'

The lifting of a window somewhere on the lower floor was distinctly heard, and then a figure dashed across the lawn within a hundred feet of them, and sped along the avenue.

The young men darted after it like two arrows discharged by a single string, and three pairs of winged feet broke the silence of the night together by their patter on the gravel. All three were good runners, but the stranger had two advantages over his pursuers--he had not dined so recently, and he was not wearing evening boots of polished leather. These latter were no obstruction to the young gentlemen's progress on the gravelled avenue, but when they had shot through the lodge gates and found themselves on the steep and slippery village street, their footing became insecure. They could not take off' from the toe, which is necessary to a very high rate of speed, because their bootsoles, save the high heels, became as unelastic as wet blocks of patent blot

ting paper. And yet after the first

foe. This, though they did not know

it, was because they had youth upon their side, an excellent ally while he sticks to you, though at bottom always a deserter. When the supposed thief had reached the spot where the mossgrown stocks stood opposite the blacksmith's shop, his pursuers were flying by the village inn, and when he sped by the cattle-pound, they were racing past the stocks. This was a gain of full five yards.

'If Dyneley were here he would have had him by this time,' panted Gresham.

'We shall have him ourselves in ten minutes,' responded Mayne.

An interchange of ideas which cost. them that is, lost them—at least four feet.

At the cattle pound the road turned sharp to the right and then to the right again, up to the moor, and at the first bend on the left was the bridle road into the Wilderness.'

They ran right on to the second bend before they discovered-by stopping and listening that their man was behind them. He had taken the bridle road. This 'check' might have been fatal to them, but at this moment the full moon came out, showing each branch and leaflet as clearly as at noonday, and also the object of their pursuit, straining up the grass grown road a hundred yards in front of them. There was but one abrupt turn in this road, and then a straight run on to the moor.

'We have got him,' said each young fellow to himself, for bountiful Nature had just given to each his 'second wind,' and it was plain by his style of going that the fugitive had no such auxiliary. He had begun to 'wobble' in his gait, which is a very bad sign, and signifies, among other things, as I happen to know, that the runner is past his prime. They calculated, and with reason, though they would necessarily lose sight of him for a minute or so at the turning, that when they reached it he would be only half his present distance ahead of them. And

they were right. Indeed he was leading by considerably less than fifty yards, but then he was on horseback. He had evidently left his steed tied up at this concealed spot, in readiness for some such emergency as had occurred, and the result had justified his precaution.

He was cantering away from them. as leisurely as a railway train from a couple of cows, and they perceived at once that further pursuit was useless.

The young men flopped down on the wayside, and gazed after the vanishing figure, with gasps and gurgles. Their neat evening costumes were in a pretty state; their great coats lay somewhere in the mire, where they had thrown them, as a ship throws over her ballast, anywhere; their boots were split and sloppy, and they had run a mile from home at midnight for nothing. The first use to which Mayne put his recovered breath was to burst out laughing.

'We thought we were so cocksure of him,' said he, didn't we?' But Gresham did not even give an answering smile.

'You saw the scoundrel pull up his coat collar as he rode off,' observed he, earnestly. Do you know why he did that?'

'No, how should I,' returned the other; He couldn't have been cold, that's certain.'

'Well, he did it to escape recognition, that was Ferdinand Walcot.'

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

BLACK NEWS.

THE astonishment which had been the portion of Mr. Frederic Mayne consequent on the events of the last twenty minutes was nothing as compared with the amazement with which he listened to his companion's last observation.

'No, my dear Gresham, I can't stand that,' he answered. 'I can only just credit that I am sitting here on a damp bank, with my clothes torn, after chasing a burglar by moonlight; to ask me to believe that that burglar was Ferdinand Walcot is to overdraw the small balance of credulity I have still on hand. Let it even be granted that he should come to rob the house, in this inexplicable manner, I could still never be brought to admit that dear Uncle Ferdy could run like that.'

'As cowards will fight with a rope round their necks,' observed Gresham, gravely, so even elderly gentlemen will make use of their legs when to be caught is ruin. Of course under the circumstances-midnight and twenty miles an hour-I can't swear to the man's identity, but I am morally convinced of it. I felt it was so all along, but when I saw him pull up the collar of his coat, I said to myself no man but Ferdinand Walcot, being at his last gasp for breath, and with his wits shaken into a hasty pudding, could have thought of such a precaution at such a moment.'

'There is something in that,' replied Mayne, musing; but why the deuce didn't you mention it? If I had thought it was Uncle Ferdy, I must have caught him. Oh dear, to see him scuttle up the village!'

And Mr. Mayne fell prone upon the bank, to the still further damage of his dress coat, and roared with laughter.

'Yes, it was Walcot,' continued Gresham, meditatively, but unless we can get proof of it, it might do more harm than good to say so. Moreover, it would alarm Lady Arden and the girls exceedingly, as, to say the truth, it does me.'

How so?' inquired Mayne, quickly. 'Who's afraid of him? I would give a thousand pounds if he would. only come again-just once-like a thief in the night. Indeed I don't know why I say like a thief-for no doubt he came in that very capacity.'

'I think so too, Mayne,' said Gresham, earnestly, and that is what makes the thing so serious. He would never run such a risk, unless for an immense and immediate gain. It is my conviction that some crisis has taken place as respects my unhappy

uncle.'

'Indeed that seems very probable,' said Mayne, rising to his feet, and turning with his companion towards home. 'We may, in that case, hear something decisive in the course of the next twenty-four hours; nothing can be worse for poor Lady Arden than this state of anxiety and suspense.'

'We always think that till the catastrophe happens,' answered Gresham, gloomily: 'then we find the worst is to know the worst. I own to you, Mayne, that I have a deep presentiment of evil as regards Sir Robert.'

'Half the unhappiness in the world,' answered Mayne, philosophically, 'arises from presentiments-speculating for the fall, as Mr. Bevill calls it. For my part I am morally certain not only that Uncle Ferdy will eventually come to grief, and that I shall live to see it, but that Sir Robert will "enjoy his own again," as the song says.'

The song, however, you remember was wrong,' remarked Gresham, dryly. 'However, it is well, of course, and one's duty, to keep a good heart. In the mean time silence will be our best plan as regards this night's adventure.'

'I quite agree with you, my dear Gresham, and not only for the sake of the ladies at the Hall. If the hero of to-night is really the man you suggest, and he suspects us of having identified him, he will expect us to take some important step, or at all events to make a row. Our remaining quiet will puzzle even him. Let us say no

thing of what has happened unless we find any of the household suspect it, and in that case only describe our

visitor as an ordinary burglar. Only we must brush our own great coats, else old Parker will say, 'They was very drunk last night, them two was, and fout on the ground.'

There was no sign, however, that any one at the Hall had been aroused: the young men let themselves in as usual, and with their own hands drew down the window of the dining-room through which the supposed thief had made his exit. Gresham called his friend's attention to the fact that it was the same window through which in summer time Walcot and Sir Robert were wont after dinner to issue on to the lawn. 'He knew that it moved easily, and without noise.'

Mayne nodded acquiescence, and murmured something in admiration of Uncle Ferdy's excellent memory. Neither of them had much sleep that night. Anxiety as to what the morrow might bring forth kept Gresham's eyes from slumber. Mayne suffered from even a worse foe to sleep. The sense of the ridiculous oppressed him; 'to see him scuttle up that hill,' he kept saying to himself, and he had to stuff the sheet into his mouth to stifle his untimely mirth.

Nothing did happen on the morrow till its close. Late in the evening a telegram arrived from Mr. Bevill.

The Meduse (this was the name of the trader from Marseilles) brought neither of our friends to Weymouth; this is certain. There were no passen

gers at all. I do not, nevertheless, despair of getting hold of one end of the thread within a few hours. If harm had been done I should have learnt it.'

The two last sentences, as all well understood, were put in by the detective by way of sedative. The rest of the message was simply astounding.

'He has killed him,' said Lady Arden, clasping her hands.

'No, no,' said Mayne. 'It is his own influence that is dying, and he dare not trust Sir Robert to communicate with those who love him. That

is why these extraordinary precautions have been taken to conceal their

whereabouts. If any calamity had happened, at sea, for example, we must, as Bevill says, have heard of it ere this.'

'But where can they be?' reiterated her ladyship.

'Well, they may have never left Marseilles; their appearing to do so may have been a ruse to throw Bevill off the scent, I confess I think it unlikely, however, that he should have been so hoodwinked. On the other hand, the captain of the ship may have been induced to touch somewhere, and put them on shore-at Gibraltar, for instance before reaching Weymouth. For my part I feel no whit discouraged. The work has to be done over again, that is all. If they are above ground, Bevill will find them.'

Lady Arden shook her head. The phrase above ground,' which Mr. Mayne had used, suggested its alternative.

'He has killed him,' she repeated, despairingly.

This unhappy condition of his hostess disturbed the young man exceedingly; he reproached himself with having advised delay, and, by way of penance, resolved to tear himself away from Halcombe, and the sweet flower that bloomed there, and assist Mr. Bevill in his researches in person.

Lady Arden did not oppose this, for she had lost confidence in the detective, but, like the rest, as soon as Mayne was gone she began to feel his loss. His good sense and sanguine views had acted as a tonic to them in their troubles, and when the doctor who had to be called in to her ladyship next day (as is the way in the country when such an opportunity occurs, just look at' the rest of the family) he said, 'You are all running down like clocks, but especially Miss Milly.'

On the same night a telegram reached the Hall from Mayne, which fulfilled Mr. Bevill's hope that 'one

end of the thread' would presently be in his hands, and also afforded some comfort. It appeared certain that Sir Robert was at all events in England. The detective had ferretted out a sailor belonging to the Meduse, and left behind-he was probably a runaway-when the vessel returned to France; and he had stated that the two 'gentlemen passengers' had been put ashore, at their own request somewhere on the English coast. At what place the Frenchman could not tell, they had left the ship in a small boat, which had afterwards returned to it.

The next morning two letters were brought up to Gresham's room, that gentleman, as usual, being late for breakfast; one in Mayne's handwriting and the other in a hand he did not at the moment recognise. Henaturally opened the former first. It detailed the news given in the telegram of the night before, but added for his private eye, if he should think it desirable to conceal the matter, that the French sailor had described the old gentleman-doubtless meaning Sir Robert -as being deadly ill, which had been the cause of his having been put ashore with his companion.

Then for the first time Gresham began to apprehend the worst. With a certain quickness of action, that signified no eagerness (for he expected nothing), but merely impatient with Fate, he took up the second letter. To his amazement he found this to be from Walcot himself.

DEAR SIR,

May 21st, Salton Point.

'It is with the most poignant sorrow that I have to communicate to you the death of your revered uncle, which took place last night. He had been ailing, as his letters have no doubt informed Lady Arden, for a considerable time; the doctors he consulted on the Continent agreed with his own family physician in the necessity of a complete change of air and scene, and at one time he had actually

resolved upon a voyage to Australia ; with the caprice of an invalid, however, he suddenly determined to return to England by sea from Marseilles. On the voyage (we were bound to Weymouth) his symptoms grew so alarming, that I persuaded the captain to put us ashore at this place, where we have since remained.

'I more than once suggested that Lady Arden or yourself should be communicated with, but this he peremptorily declined to permit. Mr. Howard, his medical attendant here, a gentleman who tells me he was at college with you, and whom you will doubtless remember, had hopes of him so late as up to yesterday afternoon. But he finally succumbed to his disease-fatty degeneration of the heart, I understand, a mischief that has been long at work-at 6.45 P.M.

'I am thankful to think that nothing was left undone that could be done to save his life, or alleviate his sufferings. He could not, as I have said, be induced to see you; but your immediate presence now here, is, I need not say, very desirable. I propose to return with you, with our precious charge-though alas! what we so loved in him is now no more-to Halcombe, on the 26th, and have made all arrangements for that purpose; unless you would prefer a later date. I have purposely avoided the use of a mourning envelope, lest it should meet Lady Arden's eye, to whom it is your unhappy privilege to break this sad intelligence.

'I am, dear Sir, Yours truly,