t he had married another woman in Scotland.
Our people were employed to make the necessary inquiries. Comparison of
dates showed that the Scotch marriage--if it was a marriage at all, and
not a sham--had taken place just about the time when Miss Gwilt was a
free woman again. And a little further investigation showed us that the
second Mrs. Manuel was no other than the heroine of the famous criminal
trial--whom we didn't know then, but whom we do know now, to be
identical with your fascinating friend, Miss Gwilt."

Mr. Bashwood's head sank on his breast. He clasped his trembling hands
fast in each other, and waited in silence to hear the rest.

"Cheer up!" pursued his son. "She was no more the captain's wife than
you are; and what is more, the captain himself is out of your way now.
One foggy day in December last he gave us the slip; and was off to the
continent, nobody knew where. He had spent the whole of the second Mrs.
Manuel's five thousand pounds, in the time that had elapsed (between two
and three years) since she had come out of prison; and the wonder was,
where he had got the money to pay his traveling expenses. It turned out
that he had got it from the second Mrs. Manuel herself. She had filled
his empty pockets; and there she was, waiting confidently in a miserable
London lodging, to hear from him and join him as soon as he was safely
settled in foreign parts! Where had _she_ got the money, you may ask
naturally enough? Nobody could tell at the time. My own notion is, now,
that her former mistress must have been still living, and that she must
have turned her knowledge of the Blanchards' family secret to profitable
account at last. This is mere guess-work, of course; but there's a
circumstance that makes it likely guess-work to my mind. She had an
elderly female friend to apply to at the time, who was just the woman to
help her in ferreting out her mistress's address. Can you guess the name
of the elderly female friend? Not you! Mrs. Oldershaw, of course!"

Mr. Bashwood suddenly looked up. "Why should she go back," he asked, "to
the woman who had deserted her when she was a child?"

"I can't say," rejoined his son, "unless she went back in the interests
of her own magnificent head of hair. The prison-scissors, I needn't tell
you, had made short work of it with Miss Gwilt's love-locks, in every
sense of the word and Mrs. Oldershaw, I beg to add, is the most eminent
woman in England, as restorer-general of the