Colin Hayward began the journey south with much to wonder about. He had obtained no light whatever on the extraordinary affair in front of the burning house, for Sam had not recovered consciousness. It was, indeed, doubtful whether he would ever do so. Colin had not the slightest suspicion as to the identity of the muffled coward whom he had seen fell the half-suffocated postman; he had not, owing to position, observed the former take anything from the latter’s helpless hand; neither had he in his rage noticed the crushed letter fall. It was in his path as he turned to the victim’s succour, and he had picked it up almost automatically, with some vague notion that it might be of consequence to somebody or other.

Then he had forgotten about it.

Now—an hour after leaving the junction—having exhausted the contents of his cigarette case, he put his hand into a pocket for a reserve packet, and encountered the document. He merely glanced at its heading, intending to place it in his letter-case for attention later. He had no intention of reading it through. Enough to learn to whom it belonged. But the words “My dear Corrie” arrested both hand and eye. Presently he told himself that there was nothing so very strange in this; the letter might easily have been dropped and left lying there hours before the ghastly affair took place. He noticed the date was of more than five years back. But in the same moment he was caught by the words “Kitty” and “Zeniths”—and “5,000 shares.”

“I’m afraid,” he said to himself, “I’ve got to read this whether I like it or not.”

It was a longish letter, written in a clear small hand on both sides of a large square sheet. The portion with which we are concerned was as follows:—

“You may perhaps find nothing in the enclosed share certificates (which, please note, are ‘bearer’) but a fresh evidence of my folly in worldly matters. Still, the Zenith Gold Mine is the only thing of the kind I ever put hard-earned money into. There are 5,000 £1 shares, and I paid 2s. apiece for them, and at the moment they are unsaleable. I acted on the advice of a friend who had seen the property, and who had knowledge of such things. He was convinced that the mine would come right in time—meaning years—and pay big dividends. Well, he may have been all wrong, and I the silliest of poor fools; but now, John, I put the shares in your keeping as a ‘possibility’ for Kitty, when she comes of age. I have never mentioned them to her—certainly not with any reference to herself—for I don’t want her to be more disappointed in me than I can help. Give them to her when she is twenty-one, and show her this letter, and if by any chance they are worth money then, or later, she will at least repay you what she may have cost you—though, of course, I am hoping she will earn enough to do that as she goes along.

N.B. Should you hear of the shares rising before then, you will just use your discretion, and do the best you can for my girl.”

Colin’s delight at the thought of Kitty having a fortune of her own was soon swamped by a flood of doubts and suspicions. The remainder of the journey was a sort of nightmare. Of only one thing could he assure himself as he neared London: Kitty’s fortune, were it in danger from persons in London or Dunford, was not going to be made an easier prey by any act of his. At first he had thought of showing the letter to Mr. Risk and asking his advice, but now he determined that his only course was to return to Dunford at the earliest possible moment, and put it into the hands of Kitty herself. He might be losing the chance of his life by such an action, and Mr. Risk might be the best and straightest of men, but Colin was so truly in love with the girl that the hopelessness of it made no difference. Consequently nothing but her happiness mattered.

It was about five o’clock when he reached Aberdare Mansions. He was admitted without delay to his employer’s study. Before he could speak, Mr. Risk, with a smile, said—

“Sorry I gave you that vain journey, Hayward. This morning a note from Symington came to the office requesting that the new certificates should be delivered to him at the Kingsway Grand Hotel.”

“Yes; that’s the address his housekeeper gave me, Mr. Risk,” said Colin. “Do you wish me to take the letter there now?” he inquired, producing it.

Risk took it and laid it on the writing-table, saying: “About noon I sent the secretary to the hotel with a similar letter, and he found that Mr. Symington had left for Scotland about two hours previously—presumably in response to a wire which the secretary was able to learn he had received.”

“Gone back to Dunford?”

“We must not assume that. Take a cigarette, Hayward, and, if agreeable to you, tell me in a few words what you know of Mr. Symington.”

“Very little, Mr. Risk, and any information I have is indirect. His father and his two brothers all died within a year, and about eighteen months ago he became the owner of what we call the White Farm—a very decent little place until he got possession. He’s not interested in farming, you know. I’ve heard he has done all sorts of things—some pretty queer—in his time. He has the reputation of being a gambler, and a speculator, but please remember that I’m repeating gossip. I”—Colin hesitated—“I really know nothing against the man.”

Risk, offering a lighted match, said quietly: “Well, what do you know in his favour?”

Colin smiled. “One is more likely to hear of a man’s faults than his virtues. Besides, as I told you, I’ve been more away from Dunford than in it during the last five years or so.”

“You are not familiar with the natives?”“Not generally speaking. Still, I hope I have a friend or two among them.”

“Would Mr. Symington have been welcome in your home?”

“His father would have been courteously received.”

Risk nodded thoughtfully. “Please pardon so many questions, Hayward. I feel that I may now tell you why I am taking so much trouble, and giving you so much, over this Mr. Symington. About seven years ago I advised a friend who had come into a little money to put it into Zeniths for what is sometimes termed a ‘long shot.’ I did so not only because I positively knew the mines had a great future, though possibly a distant one, but also because I knew my friend would otherwise fritter away the money which he honestly believed he could save for his daughter, then a young girl. . . . Yes, Hayward? Have you something to say?”

“Please go on,” said Colin, restraining himself.

“Very well. Zeniths at that period,” the other proceeded, “were decidedly out of favour. One could buy at two or three shillings. My friend bought 5,000 at half a crown a share. At his request I did the business for him and eventually handed him ten bearer certificates for 500 shares each. I am a methodical person in some respects, and in an old diary I have a record of the transaction and the numbers of the shares. Now—one moment, please!—I had my friend’s promise that he would not part with the shares until I gave him the word. If he needed money badly, he was to let me know. Time passed, and circumstances prevented our meeting; I was much abroad. I did not hear of his death until a year afterwards, and I failed to trace his daughter. But I have always been on the watch for shares bearing the numbers recorded in the old diary, and I have not grown less keen since the shares began to move up in earnest. And now, when the shares have risen to over four pounds apiece—when my friend, had he lived, would have seen himself worth at least twenty thousand pounds—along comes a letter from a Mr. Symington covering five hundred of those same shares—”

“Mr. Risk, I have something to say—”

“One moment more!—and within a few hours of its receipt I discover, by the merest chance, the daughter of my old friend—”

“Her—his name was Carstairs—Hugh Carstairs?” exploded Colin.

“It was.”

“And no doubt you mean as well by the daughter as you meant by the father?—Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Risk!”

For an instant Risk frowned, then he smiled pleasantly. “The daughter has never seen me, but she has no better friend for her father’s sake. Yet I must try to satisfy you that I am not interested in those 5,000 shares with an eye to personal profit.” He got up and, leaving Colin hot and uncomfortable, went to a safe built into the wall behind the panelling, a door in which stood open. He came back with a thin bundle of parchment-like papers which he put into the young man’s hand.

“Kindly look at these, Hayward, and tell me what they represent.”

Reluctantly but perforce Colin examined the documents and after a little while replied a trifle huskily—

“Eighty thousand shares in the Zenith Company—and you are the owner!”

“Well, does that satisfy you that I can afford to be honest? Please don’t think I was showing off!”

Colin hung his head as he handed back the certificates—and murmured an apology. He was not so much impressed by the man’s great wealth as by his cool, straightforward answer to suspicion.“You are evidently Miss Carstairs’ good friend,” Risk said kindly, throwing the bundle on the table, “and so your doubts do you credit. You are aware that she is in London?”

Colin jumped. Well, she had not been long in making use of the hundred pounds! “I didn’t know,” he managed to say fairly steadily, and could have asked many questions.

“She is staying with my sister,” continued Risk. “My sister was here a few minutes ago. Sorry you did not meet. If you like, we shall call upon her after dinner. But now as to Symington, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to make another night journey; only you need not start till 11.30, when you will find a sleeping berth on the train. Am I working you too hard?”

“Rather not!” cried Colin. “But, Mr. Risk, I must not delay another moment to show you this.” He produced the crumpled letter. “When you have read it, I will answer any questions I can.”

Risk took the letter and started slightly.

“Hugh’s writing!” he murmured. He read carefully and without apparent emotion. Having come to the end, he sighed and said softly: “Just tell me all you can, Hayward.”

Colin made a brief and simple relation of his experience beside the burning house. He also told what he knew of the Corries. His host heard him out in silence—and thereafter remained in thought for a space.

Then he said: “You have raised a lot of questions, Hayward, but I must try to put them in order before I ask them. Certainly we shall have enough to talk about this evening, and I’m afraid we must postpone the call upon my sister. In any case I don’t think we ought to bring Miss Carstairs into the business before we cannot avoid doing so. I have learned that she has no knowledge of the purchase of Zeniths by her father. It would be a pity to excite or alarm her unnecessarily. At the same time, this letter of Corrie’s in itself proves nothing against the man. I am not in Miss Carstairs’ confidence, and my sister has not felt at liberty so far to tell me what the girl has confided to her; but I can’t help suspecting, after what you have told me, that Miss Carstairs was not particularly happy in Dunford, and that she may possibly have run away.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Colin almost inaudibly.

“Only,” continued the other, “I am loth to believe that she had so little common sense to attempt London with nothing in her purse and no friends in view—for you have given me to understand that such was her position. Isn’t that so?” he asked, with a keen glance at his guest.

Colin felt himself reddening.

“Look here,” Risk said pleasantly, “won’t you help me by being open with me? I’m the older man, and I’ve been pretty frank with you. The fuller the confidence between us, the better we shall work together. Now I do not doubt for a moment that you were honestly surprised to hear of Miss Carstairs being in London—”

“So soon,” added Colin, before he could prevent himself.

“You mean?”

“Mr. Risk,” cried the young man, half-angry, half-amused, “you would get the truth out of any one! Well, I’ll trust you; but she must never know.” And he confessed to sending Kitty the hundred pounds.

“And how much had you for your own needs when you arrived in London?” was the first question from Risk.

“Fifteen odds. But, you know, I couldn’t have taken the money for myself.”

The host’s smile was kindly. “I doubt whether you are going to be a great worldly success, Hayward,” he said, “but I’m sure you are on the right road to happiness.”

Colin gave his head a rueful shake. “Please understand,” he said shyly, “that there’s nothing between Miss Carstairs and me except a little ordinary friendship.”

“Thank you for telling me about the money,” said Risk, in a more business-like tone. “Now as to this letter, what is your suggestion?”

“That you keep it—in your safe—for the present, Mr. Risk.”

A slight frown contracted the older man’s brow. “It is a horrible thing,” he remarked, “to be retaining another man’s property, and yet I think the circumstances will excuse, though I still hope they may not justify, the action. You see, if Mr. Corrie is innocent, we are doing him a great wrong; if he is guilty—well, we are depriving him of a rope to hang himself with. On the whole, I think you ought to call on him to-morrow morning and hand him back the letter—which I shall keep until it is time for you to start.”

“Great Heavens!” exclaimed Colin, aghast.

“And you need not trouble about Mr. Symington for the present. Let us assume them both innocent until we can prove them guilty.”

“But Kit—Miss Carstairs’ fortune!”“Say the word, and I will hand over to you 5,000 of my own shares to hold until you are satisfied that I am dealing fairly with her interests.”

Colin said nothing.

“I had hoped you were going to trust me,” the other murmured.

“Mr. Risk,” cried the young man distractedly, “put yourself in my place! What would you do?”

“I’d at least think over it,” Risk replied cheerfully. “I’ll give you half an hour. I have an engagement now—with a photographer, of all people—and I’m sure you would like a bath and a change of linen after those journeyings. My man will look after you.” He pressed a bell-button on the table. “And while you are thinking over it, please keep remembering this: that there is only one right way of doing a thing—which is my way!” He laughed and extended his hand. Then he became grave. “Hugh Carstairs once rendered a great service to my mother when she was abroad and alone. He is dead, but I remember always. And if any man tries to rob Hugh Carstairs’ daughter, and cheat Hugh in his grave—then God help that man! He shall not escape me!”The servant opened the door and stood at attention. Knowing not what to think, Colin rose and passed out.

* * * * *

At the same hour Hilda Risk was ascending to her flat in Long Acre. On the second landing she came to an abrupt stop. She had walked from her brother’s home, intending to make a purchase on the way—and had forgotten all about it. “Trying to think of too many things at once,” she reprimanded herself, and retraced her steps.

As she emerged upon the street she almost collided with a man apparently about to enter. He drew back with a muttered apology, and she passed on her way with a vague feeling of having seen him before. He had a sharp, rather pinched countenance, small dark moustache, and his bowler hat was decidedly shabby. So much she noticed. Then she dismissed the matter, proceeded on her errand, returned home to find Kitty happy at the typewriter, but happier still to see her, and settled down to some journalistic work which was to keep her busy most of the evening. As for the man, he made for Covent Garden telegraph office.

In the middle of the night, being wakeful, she had an odd recollection of the pinched face under the shabby bowler. And now she remembered where she had seen the man before. Why, only half an hour had elapsed between the first and second encounter! For she had noticed him on the opposite pavement as she was leaving Aberdare Mansions.

“The beast followed me!” she thought suddenly.