t wore on, Justine Delande, tossing on her bed in the Royal
Victoria Hotel, waited for the dawn, to sail for Granville. She had
telegraphed in curt words her dismissal, and she burned to reach Geneva,
for to her the sight of Alan Hawke's face was the one oasis in her
desert of sorrow.

Long after Nadine Johnstone had closed her tired eyelids, stern old
Andrew Fraser cowered below, glowering over his library fire, clad in
a huge plaid dressing gown. His greedy eyes watched the dancing flames,
and he rubbed the thin palms in triumph, while he sipped his nightly
glass of Highland whisky grog. It had been a famous secret campaign for
the surviving brother.

"If all goes on well; all goes well!" he crooned. "There's Douglas, gone
for good! The boy is young and soft-like. He might fall into this pert
minx's hands as young Douglas with Queen Mary of old. And, thank God,
he knows nothing of the packet of jewels! Not a soul knows in the wide
world! Why should I not save them for myself and turn them into gold?
Yes, save them for myself. For the boy? But he never must know! Ah! I
must hide them well! This stubborn girl knows nothing! That is right!
Janet Fairbarn will be here in two days, and I'll have another man to
keep watch; yes, and a good dog, too! For the gallants must never cross
my wall!"

"He! He! She'll no fule with Janet Fairbarn," he gloated, "and the will
gives me every power. I must find a place of safety for the jewels," he
mused. "I'm glad that I burned Hughie's letter, as he told me. There's
nothing now to show for them. The bank would not be safe. Never must
they go out of my hands. And, I can write a sealed letter for Douglas,
to be opened by him alone, if I should be called away. I can put it in
the bank, and take a receipt and send the boy the receipt. But, no
human being must know that I have them." He tottered away to his sleep
murmuring, "But safer still, to turn them into yellow gold. There's a
deal of them. I must find out in time how to dispose of them, but never
till the lass above is gone and my accounts all discharged." And the
old miser, who had already robbed his dead brother, slept softly in love
with his own exceeding cunning.

Of all the loungers on the wind-swept wharf at Granville-sur-Mer next
day, decidedly the most natty was Jules Victor, who was now awaiting the
return of the little St. Helier's packet, to engage a special cabin
for himself, with all a Gaul's horror of the stormy passa