r of her life. I came to warn
him; I believed what I had always been told, that she was his daughter.
I found out that it was a lie. It was a conspiracy against me. He never
had a daughter. But I am going to find out who she is!"

"What if I give you up to the police?" Macheson asked.

"For the sake of the woman whom the old man Hurd was shielding you had
better not. You had very much better not," was the hoarse reply. "If you
do, it may cost a woman her life."

"Why are you staying on in England?" Macheson asked.

"To find that woman, and I will find her," he added, with glittering
eyes. "Listen! I have seen her riding in a carriage, beautifully
dressed, with coachman and footman upon the box, an aristocrat. I always
said that she was that. It was a plot against us--to call her that old
man's daughter."

"All this has nothing to do with me," Macheson said quietly. "The only
thing I have to consider is whether I ought or ought not to hand you
over to the police."

The man eyed him craftily. He had little fear.

"If you did, sir," he said, "it would be an injustice. I only touched
the old man in self-defence."

Macheson looked at him gravely.

"I hope that that is the truth," he said. "You can go."

The man stood up. He did not immediately depart.

"What is it?" Macheson asked.

"I was wondering, sir," he said, in a confidential whisper, "whether you
could not give me an idea as to who the lady was who called herself
Stephen Hurd's daughter in Paris six years ago."

Macheson shook his head.

"I have no idea," he answered curtly.

The man shuffled away. Macheson lit a cigarette and watched him for a
moment steadfastly through the large gilt-framed mirror.

"Queer sort of Johnny, your friend," Holderness remarked.

"He's a bad lot, I'm afraid," Macheson answered. "Somehow or other I
can't help wishing that I hadn't seen him."

Holderness laughed.

"Man alive," he said, "it's a good thing you've come back to me, or
you'd be a bundle of nerves in no time. We'll get along now, if you're
ready. You might find something to say to 'em to-night. I know Henwood's
pretty well pumped dry."

They left the place, and took an omnibus citywards.

CHAPTER VII

A COUNTRY WALK

It was exactly such a day as he would have chosen for his purpose when
Macheson stepped out of the train at the wayside station and set his
face towards Thorpe. A strong blustering wind, blowing down from the
hills, had dried t