"And now you know where the real Lady Josceline Justice is," said Farish M'Kissock drearily, almost as if the savour of his overwhelming revenge on all who had wronged him had cloyed already. "The girl you have here—"

"Never mind about her," Captain Dove interrupted hoarsely, and darted a quick, furtive glance at Slyne, who looked very much as if he had just been struck on the back of the head with a hammer. "What are you going to do about it? That's all we want to hear from you."

He had been scarcely less overcome by that most calamitous disclosure than was his unhappy accomplice. And he did not doubt for a moment that Farish M'Kissock was speaking the truth; although until then he himself had been almost convinced that Sallie must indeed be the dead Earl of Jura's daughter. That possibility had been proven so perfectly probable that even the Court of Chancery had accepted it for a fact. But now—

The sudden and cataclysmic collapse of all his own prospects along with hers had spurred Captain Dove's momentarily stunned faculties into a perfect frenzy.

"What are you going to do about it?" he demanded again, imperatively, since the other was slow to answer.

"I need do nothing more—to thwart your fine schemes," said Farish M'Kissock quietly: "for—they will fail. Although it matters little to me now who may rule here, since the last of the old brood lies dead and unburied in Africa; and she was fond of me, too, as I was of her. 'Twas a notable revenge that I took on them-all! And I think ye'll allow that I've settled old scores handsomely with the both of you two as well.

"You might maybe murder me yet, to still my tongue, as you're thinking, but that would end as ill for yourselves, and I'm not here for long anyhow. There's nothing in this world or the next that will avail you against me now, and—"

His voice died away, wearily. He was gazing into the flickering flames, brooding over his own desperate memories.

"I might murder you, as you say, and in self-defence at that, Farish," replied Captain Dove, in a tone that he was striving to make more friendly. "But—how would it be if we went partners instead? What's the use of cutting your nose off to spite your face? There's surely enough here for all of us. And your share would more than make up to you for—"

The gaunt wreck in the armchair beside the fire broke into a low, mocking laugh.

"It's to close my account with you that I'm here, Captain Dove," said he implacably, "and not to open a new one."

Captain Dove, his face distorted with impotent fury, darted another devilish look at Slyne, but Slyne was still sitting motionless, staring at the ex-Emir, like one in a trance. Captain Dove glanced again at the stooping figure on the other side of the fireplace, set one foot firm on the floor, and leaped at his enemy like a wild beast.

Farish M'Kissock fought fiercely, with a strength surprising in one of his enfeebled appearance, had almost succeeded, indeed, in freeing himself from the old man's vice-like grip before Slyne at last awoke from his lethargy and, of mechanical instinct, came to Captain Dove's assistance. The two of them soon got him down, and then Captain Dove lashed his wrists and ankles securely with a strong fishing-line snatched from a rack on the wall.

"This way with him now," he panted, and, drawing aside a blind panel in the wainscot of the near wall, disclosed a low, wide opening, toward which he pulled their prostrate prisoner by the heels. And together they bundled the groaning body down a steep flight of dry stone steps, into an unlighted cell at one side of the dark tunnel below.

"He'll be safe enough in there," said Captain Dove vindictively, as he held up the match he had struck while Slyne, with fumbling fingers, drew its rusty iron outside bolt across the door of the cell. "And it will be easy to get him down the tunnel to the water-gate, too."

"Can anyone get in by the water-gate?" asked Slyne in a breathless whisper.

"I have the key in my pocket," Captain Dove answered shortly, and drew the blind panel back into place as they regained the gun-room together.

There, he made at once for the half-empty decanter upon the table. But Slyne sat down before the fire again, with bent head, as if utterly crushed.

It was self-evident that he had come to believe implicitly in Sallie's right to the new identity he had bestowed upon her, had never doubted that the proofs on which that belief had been based were anything but genuine. He could scarcely doubt now that Captain Dove had hoodwinked him from first to last, that Farish M'Kissock's story was the real truth of the matter. And, thus in a moment confronted with the ruinous outcome of his credulity, he could not yet bring his mind to bear on anything but the utter eclipse of all his own golden dreams.

"And so—that fellow Carthew will be Earl of Jura," he said suddenly, and looked up at Captain Dove with a hell of hate aflame behind his dull eyes. "And you've been lying to me all along," he said, in a still, dispassionate voice.

Captain Dove, back in his own chair, better pleased with himself, paused to consider before replying. He had been investigating the pantry and found out how Farish M'Kissock had come there.

"You're wrong, both times," he at length remarked. "I've told you nothing that wasn't the truth. All I've said about Sallie, I can prove up to the hilt. And, anyhow, you've been managing the whole business. You've told me often enough not to butt in! You can't blame me for any mistake that's been made.

"And, what's more," he went on, marshalling his ideas, "it remains to be proved that there has been any mistake. You're surely not going to take the mere word of a fellow like Farish for that—a mutinous second mate I had to maroon to get rid of him. Anyhow, if you're going to lie down and die at his orders, I'm not. D'ye see?"

Slyne drew a shaky hand across a damp forehead. He was obviously all unstrung.

"You didn't cast any doubt on his story," he muttered.

"There was no need," declared Captain Dove. "Let him disprove yours first. It was you who discovered who Sallie should be. I had no idea whose daughter she was—and neither had she. You and Jobling it was who put two and two together and made out four. I don't believe Farish—M'Kissock, as he calls himself now—could better that."

"Don't you believe what he said?" asked Slyne.

"Not me," lied Captain Dove. "The man's mad, that's what's the matter with him. He's probably made the whole thing up, just to get even with us, and knowing that we could do little more than contradict it. But—he didn't know that we have the Chancery Court behind us now. And that makes all the difference. We've won—and he's lost. D'ye see?

"I was scared at first, I'll admit—when he walked in. It was that infernal 'white lady' tale of yours that upset me. But—you don't believe in ghosts! What's wrong with you is sheer funk."

But even that insult seemed to have no immediate effect on Slyne, and Captain Dove got up, growling.

"Here," said he. "Drink this down—and try if you can't muster even a little Dutch courage."

Slyne swallowed, still without a word in retort, the dose of spirit which the old man had poured out for him; and that seemed to restore a little his crippled self-confidence. Some faint spark of hope that all might not yet be lost seemed to have sprung up in his heavy heart. His benumbed brain was apparently beginning to work again. He sat up, with an effort.

"But—how are we to carry on here?" he asked, in a tone which told how very feeble his faith was. "If any such story gets to the ears of—"

"It will get no farther than it has gone," declared Captain Dove with assured emphasis. "If Farish hasn't told that old hag of a sister of his yet, it stays between you and me. We'll make sure of her silence—and his. That will be easy enough."

Slyne sank back into his chair again, and scowled. He did not affect to misunderstand his companion's sinister promptings.

"Will you undertake to look after them, then?" he stipulated, with dire distaste, after further consideration.

Captain Dove in his turn took time to cogitate over that selfish suggestion. He had no intention whatever of helping Slyne at his own hazard. On the contrary, he had already made up his mind to get rid of Slyne at the same time as the other two. But, of course, it was only politic to pretend a little reluctance.

"All right," he agreed at length. "I'll look after them. But you must lend me a hand, if it's necessary. There's no one else I can trust, and we're both in the same boat now. You must lend me a hand, if it's necessary."

"And what about Carthew?" Slyne demanded, recovering himself by degrees under the old man's most matter of fact example. "If he should get any inkling—"

"Oh, don't make difficulties!" growled Captain Dove.

"What's to hinder our settling his hash the same way as the others? There are only the three of them in our way. We'll make a clean sweep. We'll get him up here—we'll send him word that Sallie would like to see him, and—the rest will be easy."

"But, good God!" cried Slyne, "how are you going to account for their disappearance? It's madness—"

"Farish is mad, all right," said Captain Dove reflectively. "Which will account for whatever happens to him and his precious sister. If they were both found with broken necks at the foot of this infernal rock, who's going to make us responsible? And, as for that fellow Carthew, if we can't explain away his disappearance we'll deserve to lose everything, Slyne.

"Damn it, man! What are you afraid of! Are you going to throw up the sponge just before the fight's won!"

"If we were once clear of the three of them, that would leave us perfectly safe," said Slyne, in a voice that was not very steady. "But what if Mrs. M'Kissock knows already—"

"We'll ring for her now and find out," answered Captain Dove with savage decision. "If she seems to know more than she should—she can keep her infernal brother company until Brasse comes ashore."

He rose, and had almost reached the bell-push beside the mantel when the door opened and the Marquis of Ingoldsby walked into the room, looking much less imbecile and more of a man in his splashed breeches and boots and spurs.

Captain Dove glared at him.

"Howdy do, Captain Dubb," said his lordship, politely, after peering through his eye-glass at Slyne. "Glad to see you again. Lady Josceline told me I would probably find you here, and—I want to talk to you—about her."

He let his eye-glass drop and helped himself to a brandy and soda. Slyne was staring at him. Captain Dove was dumb.

"I've just been askin' her to marry me," his lordship remarked, after slaking his thirst. And, as he paused to light a cigarette, "The devil you have!" exclaimed Captain Dove, considering that idea.

"She said she couldn't," Lord Ingoldsby mentioned, straddling across the hearth-rug, his hands on his hips, disregarding Slyne's presence entirely now. "But—she wouldn't tell me why. And I thought I'd ask you, don't y'know. So far as I can understand, you're her nearest livin' relative—her stepfather, or godfather, or somethin' of that sort, what? And I thought that maybe you wouldn't mind talkin' over the matter with me."

Captain Dove scratched his head. He could see that Slyne was watching him very closely. It had no doubt flashed through Slyne's mind as through his own that here was a providential by-path of escape, for him at least, from his present predicament; that, if all else went askew, Sallie might prove profitable enough, to him at least, as the Marchioness of Ingoldsby. For had not Mr. Jobling stated that the young man before the fire was one of the wealthiest peers in England or elsewhere.

"I don't want to over-hurry her, y'know," said the noble marquis, "and, maybe, I've been a bit sudden. But I've been huntin' high and low for her ever since I last saw her, and—here I am, don't y'know. So I thought I'd ask her."

"Didn't you hear me tell you in Monte Carlo that Lady Josceline is engaged to marry me?" Slyne broke in, with a sudden access of anger, since Captain Dove still seemed to have nothing to say.

"That's so," said Captain Dove slowly. "She's engaged to this gentleman—on conditions."

Lord Ingoldsby screwed his eye-glass into his face and gravely regarded Slyne again.

"But she's not married to him yet," said he. "And—it's a woman's privilege to change her mind. Besides, if her engagement is only conditional—"

"We needn't discuss it just now," Captain Dove put in with unusual diplomacy. He could see that Slyne was liable to explode dangerously at any moment.

"All right, then," said Lord Ingoldsby in a tone of great determination. "I'll just have to do the best I can for myself." And, having finished his light refreshment, he strolled off again, taking not the slightest notice of Slyne's very obvious indignation.

As soon as he was safely out of earshot, Slyne fell foul of Captain Dove, who listened patiently enough to all he had to say.

"But I'm not interfering," said the old man. "All that sort of thing lies between you and her, Slyne. If you can get her to marry you right away—"

"Of course I can—if you back me up," Slyne declared wrathfully. "And you've got to do that now, Dove—for your own sake. We're both in the same boat, remember,—and if it upsets, we'll both drown. I'll make quite sure of that.

"So—we'll get hold of Sallie now before the thing goes any further—and settle that question for good."