ing young
Englishman. "But it is a secret she will, I fear, never reveal,
unless--unless I compel her."

"And how can you compel her?" asked the elder of the two men, whose dark
hair was slightly tinged with grey. "It is difficult to compel a woman
to do anything," he added.

"I mean to know the truth!" cried Hugh Henfrey fiercely, a look of
determination in his eyes. "That woman knows the true story of my
father's death, and I'll make her reveal it. By gad--I will! I mean it!"

"Don't be rash, Hugh," urged the other.

"Rash!" he cried. "It's true that when my father died so suddenly I had
an amazing surprise. My father was a very curious man. I always thought
him to be on the verge of bankruptcy and that the Manor and the land
might be sold up any day. When old Charman, the solicitor, read the
will, I found that my father had a quarter of a million lying at the
bank, and that he had left it all to me--provided I married Louise!"

"Well, why not marry her?" queried Brock lazily. "You're always so
mysterious, my dear Hugh."

"Why!--because I love Dorise Ranscomb. But Louise interests me, and I'm
worried on her account because of that infernal fellow Charles
Benton. Louise poses as his adopted daughter. Benton is a bachelor of
forty-five, and, according to his story, he adopted Louise when she was
a child and put her to school. Her parentage is a mystery. After leaving
school she at first went to live with a Mrs. Sheldon, a young widow, in
an expensive suite in Queen Anne's Mansions, Westminster. After that she
has travelled about with friends and has, I believe, been abroad quite
a lot. I've nothing against Louise, except--well, except for the
strange uncanny influence which that man Benton has over her. I hate the
fellow!"

"I see! And as you cannot yet reach Woodthorpe and your father's
fortune, except by marrying Louise--which you don't intend to do--what
are you going to do now?"

"First, I intend that this woman they call 'Mademoiselle of Monte
Carlo,' the lucky woman who is a decoy of the Administration of the
Bains de Mer, shall tell me the true circumstance of my father's death.
If I know them--then my hand will be strengthened."

"Meanwhile you love Lady Ranscomb's daughter, you say?"

"Yes. I love Dorise with all my heart. She, of course, knows nothing of
the conditions of the will."

There was a silence of some moments, interrupted only by the pop-pop of
the pigeon-shots below.

Away across the