tell me
why you have come here to ask me this."

"I am told," Macheson said, "that years ago a girl in Paris represented
herself as being your father's daughter. She is being inquired for in a
somewhat mysterious way."

"And what business is it of yours?" Hurd demanded curtly.

"None--apparently," Macheson answered. "I am obliged to you for your
information. I will not detain you any longer."

But Stephen Hurd barred the way. Looking into his face, Macheson saw
already the signs of a change there. His eyes were a little wild, and
though it was early in the morning he smelt of spirits.

"No! you don't," he declared truculently. "You're not going till you
tell me what you mean by that question."

"I am afraid," Macheson answered, "that I have nothing more to tell
you."

"You will tell me who this mysterious person is," Hurd declared.

Macheson shook his head.

"No!" he said. "I think that you had better let me pass."

"Not yet," Hurd answered. "Look here! You've been in communication with
the man who came here and murdered my father. You know where he is."

"Scarcely that, was it?" Macheson answered. "There was a struggle, but
your father's death was partly owing to other causes. However, I did not
come here to discuss that with you. I came to ask you a question, which
you have answered. If you will permit me to pass I shall be obliged."

Hurd hesitated for a moment.

"Look here," he said, with an assumption of good nature, "there's no
reason why you and I should quarrel. I want to know who put you up to
asking me that question. It isn't that I want to do him any harm. I'll
guarantee his safety, if you like, so far as I am concerned. Only I'm
anxious to meet him."

Macheson shook his head.

"I do not know where he is myself," he answered. "In any case, I could
not give you any information."

Stephen Hurd stood squarely in front of the door.

"You'll have to," he said doggedly. "That's all there is about it."

Macheson took a step forward.

"Look here," he said, "I shouldn't try that on if I were you. I am
stronger than you are, and I have studied boxing. I don't care about
fighting, but I am going to leave this room--at once."

"The devil you are," Hurd cried, striking at him. "Take that, you
canting hypocrite."

Macheson evaded the blow with ease. Exactly how it happened he never
knew, but Hurd found himself a few seconds later on his back--and alone
in the room. He sprang up and rushed after M