etting their horses to jump what should have been ridden
round. Everywhere the same thing was manifest. The riders were not
bushmen; they were in a great hurry; they were in country with which
they were not acquainted, and were hastening towards some landmark that
would bring them to a locality where they would be more at their ease.

As he followed the track, he sat back in his saddle. There was no need
to study the ground when he could see the hoof-prints showing right
ahead. So it was that he saw what those other riders had failed to
distinguish in the half light of the moon. There was a sudden dip in the
surface, a shallow depression sloping down to a little stream. Riding,
as they must have been riding, at a full gallop, it was a trap for an
unsteady horse and one of the horses was unsteady, for it had propped at
the brow of the slope, slipped, and come down on its knees, pitching its
rider clear over its head.

The spot where he fell was still distinguishable by the bent and broken
herbage and his heels had scored the ground as he scrambled to his feet,
caught his horse, and hastily remounted. He had been in a great hurry
and so had his companion, for there was no break in the tracks of the
second horse--the other man had ridden on without a moment's halt, had
ridden past his fallen companion and left him to do the best he could
for himself. All this was plain at one glance. Again Durham laughed
aloud at the folly of the pair, as he reined in his horse and sprang
from the saddle.

In his fall the fugitive rider had dropped something. It lay white on
the ground just beyond the mark he had made in falling. Durham picked it
up--a closed, unaddressed envelope bearing the bank's impress on the
flap.

He tore it open. Inside was a sheet of paper with the bank's heading,
but undated.

"No one saw me go, and I am safe now where they will never find me.
Stay there till you hear from me again. A friend will bring you
word. Ask no questions, but send your answer as directed. You must
do everything as arranged, or all is lost. Whatever you do, don't
leave till I send you word. I am safe till the storm blows
over.--C."

As Durham read the words, written in pencil and obviously in haste, he
was satisfied that his suspicion not only of Eustace, but of Mrs.
Eustace, was correct. The man with the yellow beard whom he himself had
seen, was possibly the "friend," through whom communication was to