fashion.

"Perhaps we had better clear out while we can," assented Sellon, looking
around regretfully, and making a final dig with his pick. There hung
the good rope, safe and sound. A stiff climb--then away to spend their
lives in the enjoyment of the fruits of their enterprise.

"If you don't mind, I'll go first. I am so cursedly heavy," said
Sellon. "And just steady it, like a good chap, while I swarm up."

A good deal of plunging, and gasping, and kicking--and we are sorry to
add--a little "cussing," and Sellon landed safely upon the grassy ledge.
Renshaw was not long in following.

There remained the upper cliff, which was, it will be remembered, nearer
the perpendicular than the other one, though not so high. Up this
Sellon proceeded to climb, his companion steadying the rope for him as
before. Pausing a few moments to draw up and coil the longer line,
Renshaw turned to follow. But--the rope was not there. Looking up, he
saw the end of it rapidly disappearing over the brow of the cliff above.
What did it mean?

It could not be! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. The rope was
gone. What idiotic practical joke could his companion be playing at
such a time? Then, with a shock, the blood flowed back to his heart,
and he turned deadly cold all over.

Alas and alas! It could mean but one thing. Renshaw's feelings at that
moment were indescribable. Amazement, dismay, burning indignation, were
all compressed within it, and following upon these the warning words of
Marian Selwood, spoken that sunny morning under the cool verandah,
flashed through his brain.

"He is not a man I should trust. He doesn't seem to ring true."

Heavens and earth--it could not be! No man living, however base, could
be guilty of such an act of black and bitter treachery. But _in Maurice
Sellon's possession was the great diamond--the superb "Eye_."

Even then it could not be. Surely, surely, this man whose life had been
saved twice now; whom he had been the means of enriching for the
remainder of that life--could not be capable of requiting him in such a
manner as this. It must be a mere senseless practical joke.

"Anything gone wrong with the rope?" he called up, striving to suppress
the ring of anxiety in his voice.

No answer.

Again he called.

No answer. But this time, he fancied he heard receding footsteps
clambering up the steep hillside beyond.

Renshaw Fanning's life had not held many moments more bi