e time we stopped at the
gate of Sir Evelyn Haines' house, which used to be a monastery. Most
things in Sicily seem to have been monasteries or palaces. Our luggage
had been sent straight up there from the railway station in another cab,
for owing to Lady B.'s state of mind at Syracuse, no word had been sent
as to what train we would arrive by. You don't drive in, for it isn't a
modern gentleman's place at all, but has been left as much as possible
as it was in old, old days. We walked, Lady B. leaning on Pa's arm, I by
her other side, and Mr. Payne behind us with Miss Randolph, because she
wouldn't go ahead, though I know he wanted to.

It's really a beautiful place, for people who like that old-fashioned,
queer kind of thing, with a lovely garden, full of all kinds of flowers
such as you see at home, and quite tropical ones, too. There were a
great many well-dressed people walking about, for the charity bazaar was
on, and no doubt everybody was glad of a chance to get into the house
and talk about it afterwards as if they knew Sir Evelyn and had been his
guests. There were tables set out under the trees, and tea was being
carried round. Suddenly I heard Miss Randolph exclaim, "There's Dad!"
and at the same moment she ran ahead of us, across the grass to where a
tall, big man with short, curly grey hair and a smooth-shaven face stood
under a tree talking to another man whose back--which was turned to
us--looked a tiny bit familiar.

At once Mr. Payne stepped forward, and said eagerly, "Lady
Brighthelmston, the man Brown is here. He has got hold of Miss
Randolph's father. Heaven knows what may have passed. Come with me, and
confront him with a question about your son."

With a sort of gasp the poor old lady allowed herself to be hurried
across the lawn, and I begged Pa to come along quick, because I didn't
want to miss Mr. Payne's great moment.

Miss Randolph had got to the tall, grey-haired man, and was holding out
her hands, without a word, when Mr. Payne said in a sharp voice,
"Brown!" The other man turned. It was the courier I snapshotted in
Blois.

"_Jack!_" cried Lady B. And then it was our turn to be surprised.

We supposed at first that she'd gone mad; but, my dear girl, it was
_true_. The murderous _chauffeur_ was the Honourable Jack! But I do
believe he was ashamed of himself for the silly trick he'd played, for
all he laughed and showed his white teeth, because he was as red as a
beet through his brown