Of Myles Rudstone no trace was
discovered, and he was believed to have been carried off a prisoner by
the Indians. The conclusion of the narrative dealt with my father's
subsequent life up to shortly before his death. From the time he met the
factor he took the name of Bertrand Carew, and carefully preserved the
secret of his identity. He did this, of course, through fear of the
consequences of the Montreal brawl, the result of which he could never
have learned. There was also in the letter a reference to the cryptogram
at Fort Beaver, and to the receipt for the trunk left at Fort Garry. I
omit some personal instructions that would be of less interest to the
reader.

Macdonald, having finished reading the paper aloud, returned it to me.

"Bless me, I don't know what to make of it all!" he exclaimed. "It is
bewildering; it beats anything that one reads in fiction!"

"The proofs, Mr. Carew, if you please," said Christopher Burley.

He spoke in a quick, anxious voice.

I handed the three papers to him and a very brief scrutiny of them
seemed to satisfy him.

"They are indisputable," he declared. "They leave no room for doubt."

He made me a low bow.

"My lord, pray accept my sincere congratulations," he added. "I am
convinced that you are the real Earl of Heathermere." I tried to thank
him, but the words faltered on my lips. I was beginning to comprehend
the amazing, wonderful truth.

"As for this man," went on the law clerk, pointing to Captain Rudstone,
"this detected impostor--"

"I am that no longer, sir," interrupted the captain. "You will please to
remember that I have renounced my claim."

"But why did you conceive such a daring scheme in the first place?"
asked Macdonald. "It will be better for you to make a full confession."

"I am quite willing to do that," replied Captain Rudstone. "I will not
try your patience long--it is a short story. My first meeting with
Osmund Maiden was in Quebec, a few days after his arrival from England.
There was a certain resemblance between us, and we took a fancy to each
other; we decided to cast our fortunes together. Unluckily, however, we
had that row in Montreal--it was I who shot Henri Salvat--and this
started us off to the wilderness in a hurry. But you are already aware
of these facts, of our brief stop at Fort Garry, and of our adventure
with the Indians. I was a prisoner among them for months, and finally I
escaped to the south, believing that Osmund Maiden w