Levy was so overcome with parental affection, that he could scarcely
command his voice. But he did so with an effort.

"You were right, my son," he exclaimed. "You were right, Benjamin. We
will go together and cash the cheque."

CHAPTER XIX

AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY FOR BERNARD BROWN

A March wind was roaring over the open moorland, driving huge masses of
black clouds across the angry sky, and whistling amongst the dark
patches of pine trees, until it seemed as though their slender stems
must snap before the strain. All around Falcon's Nest the country, not
yet released from the iron grip of a late winter, lay wasted and
desolate; and the heath, which had lost all the glowing touch of autumn,
faded into the horizon bare and colorless. Nowhere was there any relief
of outline, save where the white front of Thurwell Court stretched
plainly visible through a park of leafless trees.

And of all the hours of the day it was at such a season the most
depressing. Faint gleams of the lingering day still hung over the
country, struggling with the stormy twilight, and a pale, wan glare,
varied with long black shadows, moved swiftly across the sea and the
moor--the reflection of the flying clouds overhead.

A single human being, the figure of a tall man clad in an ulster
buttoned up to the throat, was making his way across the open country.
He walked rapidly--and, indeed, there was nothing to tempt any one to
linger--and his destination was obvious. He was on his way to Falcon's
Nest.

A drearier abode than it appeared that afternoon never raised its four
walls to the sky. The grounds which surrounded it had been swept bare
by the storms of winter, and nothing had been done to repair the
destruction which they had accomplished. Uprooted shrubs lay dead and
dying upon the long dank grass, and the creepers torn from the walls
hung down in pitiful confusion. Every window reflected back the same
blank uninviting gloom. There was no light, no single sign of
habitation. Mr. Thurwell had evidently respected his tenant's wish to
the letter. The place had not been touched or entered during his
absence.

The pedestrian, Mr. Bernard Brown himself, leaned over the gate for a
moment, silently contemplating the uninviting scene with a grim smile.
He had reasons of his own for being satisfied that the place had not
been interfered with, and it certainly seemed as though such were the
case.

After a few minutes' hesitation he dr