rvation being the
first instinct of the human race, it surely was not surprising that
Arnold Du Cane should seek to place himself in a position of security.

Enormous eventualities would be consequent upon solving the mystery of
that man's death. Medical science had pronounced it to have been due
to natural causes. Dare the authorities re-open the question, and
allege assassination? Aye, that was the question. There was the press,
political parties and public opinion all to consider, in addition to
the national prestige.

He held his breath, gazing blankly away at the blood-red afterglow.
How strange, how complicated, how utterly amazing and astounding was
it all. If the truth of that dastardly plot were ever told, it would
not be believed. The depths of human wickedness were surely
unfathomable.

Because he, Phil Poland, had endeavoured to cut himself adrift from
his ingenious friends, they were about to make him the scapegoat.

He contemplated flight, but, if he fled, whither should he go? Where
could he hide successfully? Those who desired that he should pay the
penalty would search every corner of the earth. No. Death itself would
be preferable to either arrest or flight, and as he contemplated how
he might cheat his enemies a bitter smile played upon his grey lips.

The crimson light slowly faded. The balmy stillness of twilight had
settled upon everything, the soft evening air became filled with the
sweet fragrance of the flowers, and the birds were chattering before
roosting. He glanced across the lawns and well-kept walks at the
rose-embowered house itself, his harbour of refuge, the cosy place
which Sonia loved so well, and as his eyes wandered he sighed sadly.
He knew, alas! that he must bid farewell to it for ever, bid farewell
to his dear daughter--bid farewell to life itself.

He drew at his dead cigar. Then he cast it from him. It tasted bitter.

Suddenly the grave-faced Felix, the man who seldom, if ever, spoke,
and who was such a mystery in the village, came across the lawn, and,
bowing, exclaimed in French that the cure, M'sieur Shuttleworth, had
called.

"Ah! yes," exclaimed his master, quickly arousing himself. "How very
foolish of me! I quite forgot I had invited Mr. Shuttleworth to come
in and smoke to-night. Ask him to come out here, and bring the cigars
and whisky."

"Oui, M'sieur," replied the funereal-looking butler, bowing low as he
turned to go back to the house.

"How strange!" l