d from Bartlett."

"What! Did the facts he told us convey any bad news to you?" I inquired
with pretended ignorance.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, after a brief pause. Then he added: "Bartlett
said you could tell me what happened up in Scotland, where Leithcourt
had shooting. Tell me everything," he added with the air of a man in
whom all hope is dead.

"Well," I began, "the Leithcourts took Rannoch Castle, close to my
uncle's place, near Dumfries. I got to know them, of course, and often
shot with his party. One day, however, I was amazed to notice in one of
the rooms the photograph of a lady, the exact counterpart of that
picture which, I recollect, I told you when in Leghorn I had found torn
up on board the _Lola_. You recollect what I narrated about my strange
adventure, don't you?"

"I remember every word," was his answer. "Go on. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I held my tongue. But when I discovered that the fellow who
called himself Woodroffe--the man who had represented himself as the
owner of the _Lola_, and who, no doubt, had had a hand in breaking open
Hutcheson's safe in the Consulate--was engaged to Muriel, I became full
of suspicion."

"Well?"

"Woodroffe, after meeting me, disappeared--went to Hamburg, they said,
on business. Then other things occurred. A man and woman were found
murdered up in the wood about a mile and a half from the castle. The man
was made up to represent my man Olinto--I believe you've seen him in
Leghorn?"

"What! They've killed Olinto?" he gasped, starting from his chair.

"No. The fellow was made up very much like him. But his wife Armida was
killed."

"They killed the woman, and believed they had also killed her husband,
eh?" he said bitterly through his teeth, and I saw that his strong hands
grasped the arms of his chair firmly. "And Martin Woodroffe is engaged
to Muriel Leithcourt. Are you certain of this?"

"Yes; quite certain."

"And is there no suspicion as to who is the assassin of the woman
Santini and this mysterious man who posed as her husband?"

"None whatever."

For some time Jack Durnford smoked in silence, and I could just
distinguish his white, hard face in the faint light, for it was now
late, and the big electric lamps had been turned out and we were in
semi-darkness.

"That fellow shall never marry Muriel," he declared in a fierce, hoarse
voice. "What you have just told me reveals the truth. Did you meet
Chater?"

"He appeared suddenly at Rannoc