act, not as an enemy to
him."

This conclusion he came to on the evening of the day which saw
Blanchard's final eruption, and he was amazed to find how
straightforward and simple his course appeared when viewed from the
impersonal standpoint of duty. His brother was due to dine with John
Grimbal in half an hour, for both men were serving on a committee to
meet that night upon the question of the local celebrations at Chagford,
and they were going together. Time, however, remained for John to put
his decision into action. He turned to his desk, therefore, and wrote.
The words to be employed he knew by heart, for he had composed his
letter many months before, and it was with him always; yet now, seen
thus set out upon paper for the first time, it looked strange.

"RED HOUSE, CHAGFORD, DEVON.

"_To the Commandant, Royal Artillery, Plymouth._

"SIR,--It has come to my knowledge that the man, William Blanchard,
who enlisted in the Royal Artillery under the name of Tom Newcombe
and deserted from his battery when it was stationed at Shorncliffe
some ten years ago, now resides at this place on the farm of Monks
Barton, Chagford. My duty demands that I should lodge this
information, and I can, of course, substantiate it, though I have
reason to believe the deserter will not attempt to evade his just
punishment if apprehended. I have the honour to be,

"Your obedient servant,

"JOHN GRIMBAL,

"Capt. Dev. Yeomanry."

He had just completed this communication when Martin arrived, and as his
brother entered he instinctively pushed the letter out of sight. But a
moment later he rebelled against himself for the act, knowing the ugly
tacit admission represented by it. He dragged forth the letter,
therefore, and greeted his brother by thrusting the note before him.

"Read that," he said darkly; "it will surprise you, I think. I want to
do nothing underhand, and as you're linked to these people for life
now, it is just that you should hear what is going to happen. There's
the knowledge I once hinted to you that I possessed concerning William
Blanchard. I have waited and given him rope enough. Now he's hanged
himself, as I knew he would, and I must act. A few days ago he spoke
disrespectfully of the Queen before a dozen other loafers in a
public-house. That's a sin I hold far greater than his sin against me.
Read what I have just written."

Martin gazed with mil