f the letter,
and read it aloud:--

"What that fear has been to me, and what it has grown into during my
sad lonely life, I cannot hope to make you understand. Always those
terrible words of vengeance ring in my ears as I heard them last.
They seem to roll over sea and land, and in the middle of the night,
and out in the sunlit street, I seem to hear them still. It is not
you I fear, Bernard, so much as him!"

Mr. Levy listened, and nodded approvingly.

"All is plain there, Benjamin, I think. The meaning is quite clear."

Mr. Benjamin laid his finger upon the last sentence.

"What do you make of that, dad?" he asked.

Mr. Levy adjusted his spectacles and read it slowly.

"'It is not for you I fear, Bernard, so much as him.' Tut, tut, that's
simple enough," he declared. "This woman, whoever she may be, is afraid
of a meeting between Sir Geoffrey Kynaston and Mr. Bernard Maddison, to
give him his right name, and she remarks that it is for him she fears,
and not for Sir Geoffrey. Quite right, too, considering the affectionate
tone of these letters."

"Yes, I suppose that's it," Mr. Benjamin remarked in an absent tone,
folding up the letter, and putting it back amongst the rest.

Mr. Levy watched him narrowly, and returned to his desk with a sense of
injury. His son--his Benjamin--had discovered something which he was not
going to confide to the parental ear. It was a blow.

He was wondering whether it might have the desired effect if he were to
produce a scrap of old yellow pocket handkerchief, and affect to be
overcome, when they heard a hurried footstep outside. Both looked up
anxiously. There was a quick knocking at the door, and a shabby-looking
man dressed in black entered.

"Well, Leekson, what news?" Mr. Benjamin asked quickly.

"He's off," was the prompt reply. "Continent. Afternoon train. Waterloo,
three o'clock."

Mr. Benjamin's eyes sparkled.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "Job's over, Leekson. Get me a
cab, and go to the office for your money."

"You're going to let him go!" cried Mr. Levy piteously.

"Not I. I'm going with him, dad. A fifty-pound note from the safe,
quick."

Mr. Levy gave it to him with trembling fingers.

"Now, dad, listen to me," Benjamin said earnestly, reaching down his
overcoat from the peg. "Miss Thurwell will be here some time to-day, I'm
certain, to try and buy those letters. I've changed my mind about them.
Sell."

"Sell