impostor; some poor victim deliberately
substituted because of his facial resemblance. Tell me, if it was Fred
who was murdered, what became of the money he was known to have in his
private safe? What became of the original copy of the will he had in
his pocket when he left the club?"

She shook her head, convinced that his argument had force.

"I--I do not know."

"Yet these things are true, are they not? No money, no will was found.
There is but one reason possible, unless others entered after the
murder and stole these things. My belief is that Fred returned to his
apartments, took what money he required, packed his valise, and
departed without a word to any one. He often did things like
that--hastily, on the spur of the moment."

"But what happened afterward?"

"The rest is all theory. I do not know, but I'll make a guess. In
some way the conspirators learned what had occurred, but not in time to
intercept his departure; yet they had everything ready for action, and
realised this was the opportunity. Frederick had disappeared leaving
no trace behind; they could attend to him later, intercept him,
perhaps---- Wait! Keep still. There comes the carriage from the
train."

He drew her back into the denser undergrowth and they looked out
through the leaves to where the road circled in toward the bridge. The
hoof-beats of horses alone broke the silence.

CHAPTER XII: VIEWED FROM BOTH SIDES

The team trotted on to the bridge, and then slowed down to a walk. Above
the dull reverberation of hoofs the listeners below could hear the sound
of voices, and an echo of rather forced laughter. Then the carriage
emerged into full view. Beside the driver it contained three
passengers--Beaton on the front seat, his face turned backward toward the
two behind, a man and a woman. Westcott and Miss Donovan, peering
through the screen of leaves, caught only a swift glimpse of their
faces--the man middle-aged, inclined to stoutness, with an unusually red
face, smoking viciously at a cigar, the woman young and decidedly blonde,
with stray locks of hair blowing about her face, and a vivacious manner.
The carriage rolled on to the smooth road, and the driver touched up the
horses with his whip, the lowered back curtain shutting off the view.

The girl seized Westcott's arm while she directed his gaze with her free
hand. "Look!" she cried. "The woman is La Rue. And the man--the man is
Enright! He is the lawye