ho accompanied him, whom I recommend to your
safe custody. We bring no charge against them, but it would be as well
to keep them under lock and key until we have left Palermo."

"Do you mean the innkeeper Gros Jean and the Turks who accompanied him
from Messina by train to-day?"

"Yes."

"You need not trouble about them. They have all been carried to the
hospital."

"What!" exclaimed Brett. "How did they come to be injured?"

"I cannot tell you exactly, but they, together with some sailors from
the fishing-smack, were knocked senseless by the crew of the steam yacht
when the young lady was shot."

"What young lady?" demanded Brett and Talbot together. This conversation
had taken place in the entrance of the hotel, whilst Dubois was being
carried to a bedroom by the servants.

"Did you not know?" inquired the official gravely. "The young lady was
of your company who stayed here with you--the niece of milord, the
elderly gentleman."

"Edith! Shot, did you say!" cried her brother, leaning against the
barrister for support.

"Yes, but not seriously, I hope. She has been brought here. The doctors
are now with her in her room."

"Who shot her?" demanded Brett savagely.

"The person who was flung into the harbour by the other milord. It is
stated that she is a woman, but really at this moment I have not heard
all the facts. She was carried to the hospital with the others."

The two waited to hear no more. They ran upstairs, and Talbot would have
fallen twice had not Brett supported him. Reaching the corridor which
contained their apartments they found Sir Hubert, Lord Fairholme,
Daubeney, and Mr. Winter standing silently, a sorrowful, motionless
group, outside Edith's room.

"What terrible thing has happened?" Brett asked them. "Surely Miss
Talbot cannot be seriously hurt?"

The only one who could answer was Mr. Winter.

"We hope not, sir," he said, "but the doctors will be here in a moment.
They are extracting the bullet now."

Before the bewildered barrister could frame another question the door of
Edith's room opened noiselessly, and two Italian gentlemen emerged. One
of them spoke English well. He addressed himself to Sir Hubert
Fitzjames.

"I am glad to tell you," he said cheerfully, "that the young lady's
wound is not at all dangerous. It looks worse than it is. Most
fortunately, the bullet first struck a large bone button on her coat.
This, combined with the thick woollen material, and some small