her
beloved London, and her liberal lover had already given her his address
at the Cor d'Abondance.

"You must telegraph to me, Mattie, where you are staying, and when you
leave London to return. I may run over to Southampton and come back on
the same boat with you. Write to me, my own girl, every day, and here's
a five-pound note to buy your stamps with." On his sacred promise of
honor to write to her himself every day, and to let no black Gallic eyes
eclipse her "orbs of English blue," Mattie Jones allowed her lover an
extra liberal allowance of good-bye kisses.

While Professor Andrew Fraser, Miss Nadine Johnstone, and the lovelorn
Mattie Jones, were escorted to London by a head clerk of the estate's
solicitors, Prince Djiddin and the "Moonshee" unbent their brows
and rested from the nervous strain of the three weeks of continued
deception.

While the happy "Moonshee" escaped to his own fair bride, Prince
Djiddin, under Simpson's guidance, examined minutely the superb modern
castle, and even microscopically examined all the beautiful surroundings
of Rozel Head. "It may come in handy some day," mused Major Hardwicke,
"especially if we have to aid Nadine Johnstone to escape." The
pseudo-Prince was glad to often steal out alone to the headland
overlooking Rozel Pier, and there watch the French luggers beating to
seaward sailing like fierce cormorants along the wild coast of St. Malo.
He was glad to fill his lungs with the fresh, crisp, salt air, and to
commune in safety at length with the faithful Simpson.

Securely hid in an angle of the cliff, they talked over all the mystery
of Hugh Fraser's bloody "taking off," and of the dreary three years of
Death in Life left before Nadine.

"As for the old master, he was an out and out hard 'un," stolidly said
Simpson. "Who killed him, nobody knows and nobody cares. I've always
suspicioned that there Ram Lal and yer fancy friend, this Major Alan
Hawke."

Hardwicke started in a sudden alarm. "Why so?" he demanded.

"I believe that they tried to blackmail him about some of his old
Eurasian love affairs, or else some official secret they had spied out.
You see the niggers in the marble house were all Ram Lal's friends, and
any one of them could have left the murderers alone to do their work and
then let 'em out of the house. I believe that Hawke did the job, and Ram
Lal got away with some of the missing crown jewels. I'll tell you, Major
Harry, General Willoughby and the m