liberty to try them
all except one. The day he secures control of that fortune, that day I
shoot him."

"The deuce you will?" said the startled Mr. McNorton.

"The deuce I will," repeated Beale.

There was a tap at the door and McNorton rose.

"Don't go," said Beale, "I would like to introduce you to this
gentleman."

He opened the door and a grey-haired man with a lean, ascetic face came
in.

Beale closed the door behind him and led the way to the dining-room.

"Mr. Kitson, I should like you to know Superintendent McNorton."

The two men shook hands.

"Well?" said Kitson, "our medical friend seems to have got away with
it." He sat at the table, nervously drumming with his fingers. "Does the
superintendent know everything?"

"Nearly everything," replied Beale.

"Nearly everything," repeated the superintendent with a smile, "except
this great Green Rust business. There I admit I am puzzled."

"Even I know nothing about that," said Kitson, looking curiously at
Beale. "I suppose one of these days you will tell us all about it. It is
a discovery Mr. Beale happed upon whilst he was engaged in protecting
Miss----" He looked at Beale and Beale nodded--"Miss Cresswell," said
Kitson.

"The lady who was present at the murder of Jackson?"

"There is no reason why we should not take you into our confidence, the
more so since the necessity for secrecy is rapidly passing. Miss Oliva
Cresswell is the niece of John Millinborn. Her mother married a scamp
who called himself Cresswell but whose real name was Predeaux. He first
spent every penny she had and then left her and her infant child."

"Predeaux!" cried the detective. "Why you told me that was Jackson's
real name."

"Jackson, or Predeaux, was her father," said Kitson, "it was believed
that he was dead; but after John Millinborn's death I set inquiries on
foot and discovered that he had been serving a life sentence in Cayenne
and had been released when the French President proclaimed a general
amnesty at the close of the war. He was evidently on his way to see John
Millinborn the day my unhappy friend was murdered, and it was the
recognition of his daughter in the palm-court of the Grand Alliance
which produced a fainting-fit to which he was subject."

"But how could he recognize the daughter? Had he seen her before?"

For answer Kitson took from his pocket a leather folder and opened it.
There were two photographs. One of a beautiful woman in the fashion of