ded. "By Colonel Meadows Taylor. A very interesting book, but
rather a bloodthirsty one for you, dearest."

"Debby got it," confessed Miss Norman, "along with some other books from
a literary customer who could not pay his bill. It is very strange,
Paul, that _The Confessions of a Thug_ should be amongst the books."

"Really I don't see why," smiled Beecot, fingering the old-fashioned
volumes.

"It's the finger of Fate, Paul," said Sylvia, solemnly. Then seeing her
lover look puzzled, "I mean, that I should find out what goor is?"

"Goor?" Paul looked more puzzled than ever.

"It's an Indian word," explained Sylvia, "and means coarse sugar. The
Thugs eat it before they strangle anyone."

"Oh," laughed Beecot, "and you think your father was strangled by a
Thug? My dear child, the Thugs were stamped out years ago. You'll read
all about it in the preface of that book, if I remember. But it's long
since I read the work. Besides, darling," he added, drawing her to him
caressingly, "the Thugs never came to England."

"Paul," said Sylvia, still more solemnly and resenting the laugh, "do
you remember the Thug that came into the shop--"

"Oh, you mean the street-hawker that Bart spoke of. Yes, I remember that
such an Indian entered, according to Bart's tale, and wanted to sell
boot-laces, while that young imp, Tray, was dancing on poor Bart's body.
But the Indian wasn't a Thug, Sylvia."

"Yes, he was," she exclaimed excitedly. "Hokar, he said he was, and
Hokar was a Thug. Remember the handful of coarse brown sugar he left on
the counter? Didn't Bart tell you of that?"

Paul started. "Yes, by Jove! he did," was his reply.

"Well, then," said Sylvia, triumphantly, "that sugar was goor, and the
Thugs eat it before strangling anyone, and father was strangled."

Beecot could not but be impressed. "It is certainly very strange," he
said, looking at the book. "And it was queer your father should have
been strangled on the very night when this Indian Hokar left the sugar
on the counter. A coincidence, Sylvia darling."

"No. Why should Hokar leave the sugar at all?"

"Well, he didn't eat it, and therefore, if he was a Thug, he would have
done so, had he intended to strangle your father."

"I don't know," said Sylvia, with a look of obstinacy on her pretty
face. "But remember the cruel way in which my father was killed, Paul.
It's just what an Indian would do, and then the sugar--oh, I'm quite
sure this hawker committed t