e laws of England, revolutionary as they have no doubt become to
old-fashioned people like myself, have not yet placed fathers under the
guardianship of their sons-in-law. I cannot accept your suggestion."

"We insist upon its acceptance," said Chayne, quietly.

Garratt Skinner smiled.

"Insist perhaps! But how enforce it, my friend? That's another matter."

"I think we have the means to do that," said Chayne. "We can point out to
Walter Hine, for instance, that your ascent from the Brenva Glacier was
an attempt to murder him."

"An ugly word, Captain Chayne. You would find it difficult of proof."

"The story is fairly complete," returned Chayne. "There is first of all a
telegram from Mr. Jarvice couched in curious language."

Garratt Skinner's face lost its smile of amusement.

"Indeed?" he said. He was plainly disconcerted.

"Yes." Chayne produced the telegram from his letter case, read it aloud
with his eyes upon Garratt Skinner, and replaced it. "'What are you
waiting for? Hurry up! Jarvice.' There is no need at all events to ask
Mr. Jarvice what he was waiting for, is there? He wanted to lay his hands
upon the money for which Hine's life was insured."

Garratt Skinner leaned back in his chair. His eyes never left Chayne's
face, his face grew set and stern. He had a dangerous look, the look of a
desperate man at bay.

"Then there is a certain incident to be considered which took place in
the house near Weymouth. You must at times have been puzzled by
it--perhaps a little alarmed too. Do you remember one evening when a
whistle from the shadows on the road and a yokel's shout drove you out of
Walter Hine's room, sent you creeping out of it as stealthily as you
entered--nay, did more than that, for that whistle and that shout drove
you out of Dorsetshire. Ah! I see you remember."

Garratt Skinner indeed had often enough been troubled by the recollection
of that night. The shout, the whistle ringing out so suddenly and
abruptly from the darkness and the silence had struck upon his
imagination and alarmed him by their mystery. Who was the man who had
seen? And what had he seen? Garratt Skinner had never felt quite safe
since that evening. There was some one, a stranger, going about the world
with the key to his secret, even if he had not guessed the secret.

"It was I who whistled. I who shouted."

"You!" cried Garratt Skinner. "You!"

"Yes. Sylvia was with me. You thought to do that night what you though