in sudden curiosity.

"Then there is a book about him, Mr. Delavoye?"

"Not exactly a book."

"I know!" she cried. "It's the case you'd been reading the other
night--isn't it?"

"Perhaps it is."

"Was he actually tried--that Lord Mulcaster?"

The wretched Uvo groaned and nodded.

"What for, Mr. Delavoye?"

"His life!" exclaimed Uvo, moistening his lips. Miss Julia beamed and
puckered with excitement.

"How very dreadful, to be sure! And had he actually committed a murder?"

"I've no doubt he had," said Uvo, eagerly. "I wouldn't put anything past
him, as they say; but in those days it wasn't necessary to take life in
order to forfeit your own. There were lots of other capital offences.
The mere kidnapping of the young lady, exactly as you describe it----"

"But did he really do such a thing?" demanded Miss Julia.

And her obviously genuine amazement redoubled mine.

"Exactly as you have described it," repeated Delavoye. "He travelled in
the East, commenced Bluebeard on his return, fished his Fatima like
yours out of some little shop down Shoreditch way, and even drove her to
your own expedient of turning her tears to account!"

And he dared to give me another look--shot with triumph--while Miss
Julia supported an invidious position as best she might.

"Wait a bit!" said I, stepping in at last. "I thought I gathered from
you the other day, Miss Brabazon, that you felt the reality of your
story intensely?"

"I did indeed, Mr. Gillon."

"It distressed you very much?"

"I might have been going through the whole thing."

"It--it even moved you to tears?"

"I should be ashamed to say how many."

"I daresay," I pursued, smiling with all my might, "that even your
handkerchief was heavy with them, Miss Brabazon?"

"It was!"

"Then so much for the origin of _that_ idea! It would have occurred to
anybody under similar circumstances."

Miss Julia gave me the smile I wanted. I felt I had gone up in her
estimation, and sent Delavoye down. But I had reckoned without his
genius for taking a dilemma by the horns.

"This is an old quarrel between Gillon and me, Miss Brabazon. I hold
that all Witching Hill is more or less influenced by the wicked old
wizard of the place. Mr. Gillon says it's all my eye, and simply will
not let belief take hold of him. Yet your Turkish building actually
existed within a few feet of where we're sitting now; and suppose the
very leaves on the trees still whisper about it to t