ged cheque, we naturally traced
your antecedents, and it seemed to us--well, to put it shortly, that
your history was so interesting it was worth following. I have all the
notes here." He tapped a little book he had taken from his pocket. "You
will want to know why I brought it down with me, when I was engaged upon
another case and had little reason to expect that you would be arrested
on this charge?"

"The question was in my mind," said Derrick, gravely. "Perhaps you'll
explain."

"With pleasure," replied Mr. Jacobs, and his tone corroborated his
words. "But perhaps this packet which we have, in the discharge of our
duty, taken from you, will explain better than I can."

He took the packet from his pocket and laid it on the table. As he did
so, he glanced for the first time at the old man, who was sitting so
quietly, so immovably.

"Will you allow me to open it--or perhaps we will ask his lordship to do
so?"

Derrick looked from one to the other and bit his lip.

"That packet is a confidential one," he said; "but"--moved by an impulse
he could not understand--"I am willing that Mr. Clendon shall open it.
It has passed out of my hands. I suppose I have no right to it," he
added, rather bitterly.

"I made the proposition to save time," said Mr. Jacobs. "There is the
packet, your lordship."

With a glance at Derrick, the old man took it and broke the seals
slowly. There was no surprise on his face as he read the enclosures.
Perhaps he had foreseen that which the packet contained. He read, in
absolute silence, the two men watching him; Mr. Jacobs with a cheerful
countenance, Derrick with an anxious regard; then presently, Mr. Clendon
looked up. Now his face was working, his eyes were moist as he breathed,
"My God!" and there was remorse, as well as a kind of solemn joy in the
cry.

"You do not guess the truth contained in these papers?" he asked, in a
very low voice, as his gaze met Derrick's.

"No, sir," said Derrick.

Mr. Clendon turned his eyes to Mr. Jacobs, but Derrick felt that the old
man was addressing him.

"The lady who writes this letter, Mr. Jacobs, the Donna Elvira of whom
you have spoken, is--my wife. We have been separated for years. The
cause? Nothing that can cast a shadow of dishonour on her. I was
wandering in South America when I met her; we fell in love, were married
in haste. I was then a headstrong, hot-tempered, unreasonable youth;
she--well, she was Spanish, and with a temper and