en suddenly upon this long period of to-and-fro, there fell (as it
were) the very calmness of reconciliation. Peace seemed to be made, and
I think that all of us were glad of it, for the suspense and an
increasing tension of the nerves were telling on us all.

"They are shaking hands," whispered my grandmother; "Mr. Richard has
brought him to his senses. Fine I knew he would."

"I wonder if they will put him in prison or let him off because of the
family?" said Rob, adjusting the bandage about his wounded leg. "Anyway,
I am glad of the bit tramp he got from my yard clogs!"

"Wheesht!" whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction
of the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur.

"They will be writing something--some bond or deed, most likely."

"They are long about it," said William Lyon uneasily.

The silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My
grandfather fidgeted in his chair. At last he said in a low tone, "Lads,
we have endured long enough. We must see what they are at. If we are
wrong, I will bear the weight!"

As one man the four moved towards the door, through the keyhole of which
a ray of light was stealing from the lamp that had been left on the
table.

"Open!" cried my grandfather suddenly and loudly. But the door remained
fast.

"Is all right there, Master Richard?" he shouted. Still there was
silence within.

"Put your shoulders to it, lads!" Eben and Tom were at it in a moment,
while strong Rob, springing from the far side of the passage, burst the
lock and sent the door back against the inner wall, the hinges snapped
clean through.

Mr. Richard was sitting in a quiet room, his head leaning forward on his
hands. His loaded riding whip was flung in a corner. The window was wide
open, and the night black and quiet without. Sweet odours of flowers
came in from the little garden. The lamp burned peacefully and nothing
in the room was disturbed. But Mr. Wringham Pollixfen was not there, and
when we touched him, Mr. Richard Poole was dead, his head dropped upon
his arms.

PART III

CHAPTER XXII

BOYD CONNOWAY'S EVIDENCE

The loop of the riding-whip on Mr. Richard's wrist was broken, and
behind his ear there was a lump the size of a small hen's egg. There
were no signs of a struggle. The two men had been sitting face to face,
eye to eye, when by a movement which must have been swift as lightning,
one had disarmed and smitten the o