nts of
the heather were beginning to glow upon the moors; on the lower-lying
slopes a mass of foliage showed its first autumnal colouring; here and
there a field of yellow stubble gave a dash of almost dazzling
brightness to the landscape, under the cloudless azure of a September
sky. Hills, woods, and firmament were alike reflected with mirror-like
distinctness in the smooth bosom of the loch, where little, brown ducks
swam placidly amongst the weeds, and swallows skimmed and dipped and
flew in happy ignorance of the ruin that guilt and misery can work in
the lives of men.

Richard Luttrell stood with his back towards the open door of a large
wooden shed used as a boat-house, the interior of which looked densely
black by contrast with the brilliant sunlight on the green grass and
trees outside it. An open box or two, a heap, of fishing tackle, a
broken oar, could be seen but dimly from without. It was in one of these
boxes that Richard Luttrell had made, early in the day, a startling
discovery. He had come across a pocket-book which had been abstracted
from his strong-box in a most mysterious way about a week before. On
opening it, he found, not only certain bank-notes which he had missed,
but some marked coins and a cornelian seal which had disappeared on
previous occasions, proving that a system of robbery had been carried on
by one and the same person--evidently a member of the Luttrell
household. The spoil was concealed with great care in a locked box on a
shelf, and but for an accidental stumble by which Luttrell had brought
down the whole shelf and broken the box itself, it would probably have
remained there undisturbed. No one would ever have dreamt of seeking for
Luttrell's pocket-book in a box in the boat-house.

"How did this get here? Who keeps the second key of the boat-house?"
demanded Richard in the first moment of his discovery.

And Brian, his younger brother, answered carelessly--

"Hugo has had it for the last week or two."

Then, disturbed by his brother's tone, he came to Richard's side and
looked at the fragments of the box by which Richard was still kneeling.
With an exclamation of surprise he took up the lid of the box and
examined it carefully. The name of its owner had been printed in ink on
the smooth, brown surface--Hugo Luttrell. And the stolen property was
hidden in that little wooden box.

The exclamations of the two brothers were characteristic. Richard raised
himself with the pock