It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the usual routine of business had commenced in the office of Messrs. Levy & Son. Mr. Levy, senior, was sitting at his desk opening his letters, and Mr. Benjamin, who had only just returned from a long journey on business of the firm, and did not feel inclined for office work, was leaning back in the client's chair, with his feet up against the mantelpiece, and a partly smoked cigar in his mouth. He had just finished a long account of his adventures, and was by no means inclined to quit the subject.

"Altogether, dad," he was saying, "it's about the prettiest piece of business we ever struck. But one thing is very certain. We must get some more tin from Miss Thurwell. Why, I've been at it five months now, and the expenses at some of those foreign hotels were positively awful. Not knowing the confounded lingo, you see, I was forced to stump up, without trying the knocking-off game."

"Yes, Benjamin. Yes, my son. We must certainly have some more of the rhino. Your expenses have been positively e-normous, e-normous," declared the old man, with uplifted hands and eyes. "Some of your drafts have brought tears into my eyes. Positively tears," he echoed mournfully.

"Couldn't be helped, guv'nor. The thing had to be done."

"And you have got it nearly all in order now, Benjamin, eh? You've got him under your thumb, eh? He can't escape?"

"Not he! Mark my words, dad. The rope's already woven that'll go round his neck."

The old man looked doubtful.

"If he's such a learned, clever man as you say—writes books and such like—they'll never hang him, my son. They'll reprieve him. That's what they'll do."

"I don't care a blooming fig which it is, so long as it comes off. Do you remember what I told you when Miss Thurwell first came here, dad?"

"Perfectly, my son, perfectly. You said that our fortune was made. Those were your very words," he added, with glistening eyes. "Our fortune is made."

"And what I said I'll stick to," Mr. Benjamin declared. "When this case comes off, it'll be the biggest thundering sensation of the day. And who'll get the credit of it all? Who tracked him down for all his false name and sly ways; hunted him all over Europe, found out who he really was, and why he hated Sir Geoffrey Kynaston so much that he murdered him? Why, I did, dad—Benjamin Levy, of Levy & Son, Carle Street, Strand. Ain't it glorious, guv'nor? Ain't it proud?"

Mr. Benjamin's enthusiasm was catching. It was reflected in his father's face, and something glistened in his eyes. He removed his spectacles, and carefully wiped them. After all, he was a father, and he had a father's feelings.

"When will the time come, Benjamin?" he inquired.

"A month to-day, I hope," was the prompt reply. "I have one more journey to take, and it will be all square."

"Where to? How far?" inquired the old gentleman uneasily.

Mr. Benjamin looked at him, and shook his head. "Come, dad, I know what you are thinking of," he said. "It's the expense, ain't it?"

"It is, Benjamin," his father groaned. "I hate parting with hard-earned money for exorbitant bills and these long journeys. Couldn't it be done without it, Ben?" he inquired, in a wheedling tone. "There's piles of money gone already in expenses. Piles and piles."

"And if there is, ain't it Miss Thurwell's, you old stupid?" remarked Mr. Benjamin. "'Tain't likely that we should find the money ourselves."

"Of course, of course. But, Benjamin, my son, the money is thrown away for all that. We could charge it, you know—charge it always. We must have a margin—we must positively have a margin to work with."

"Dad, dad, what an old sinner you are!" exclaimed his hopeful son, leaning back in his chair and laughing. "A margin to work with. Ha! ha! ha!"

Mr. Levy looked uncertain whether to regard his son's merriment as a compliment, or to resent it. Eventually, the former appeared to him the wisest course, and he smiled feebly.

"Dad, just you leave this matter with me," Mr. Benjamin said at last. "I know what I'm doing, and unless I'm very much mistaken, I see my way to make this a bigger thing, even as regards the cash, than you and I ever dreamed of. Leave it to me. Hullo! who's that?"

He peered up over the office blind, and sat down again at once. In a moment his cigar was behind the grate, and his expression completely changed.

"Ah! Miss Thurwell, dad," he said coolly, "and I'll bet ten to one I know what she wants. Mind you leave it all to me. I've no time to explain, but you'll spoil it if you interfere. Come in. Why, Miss Thurwell, we were this moment talking of you," he continued, springing to his feet and offering her a chair. "Please come in."

Helen advanced into the room, and lifted her veil. One swift glance into her flushed face confirmed Mr. Benjamin's idea as to the reason of her visit, and he commenced talking rapidly.

"I'm glad you've come this morning, Miss Thurwell. I only got back from Spain yesterday, and I'm thankful to tell you our case is nearly complete. Thankful for your sake, because you will have the satisfaction of seeing the murderer of Sir Geoffrey Kynaston brought to book, and thankful for ours, because we shall at one stroke establish our reputation. I need not tell you that that is far more to us than the reward will be, for our expenses have been enormous."

"Enormous!" groaned Mr. Levy, senior.

"However, we have decided not to take another penny of money from you, Miss Thurwell," he continued, casting a warning glance at his father. "After all, the money is not so much to us as our reputation, and this will be made for ever, now."

Mr. Benjamin paused, a little out of breath, but quite satisfied with himself. Opposite, his father was purple with anger, and almost choking at his son's folly. Take no more money from Miss Thurwell! Was the boy mad?

"I'm afraid, from what you say, Mr. Levy," Helen said hesitatingly, "that you will be rather disappointed when I tell you the reason of my visit."

Mr. Benjamin, who knew perfectly well what she was going to say, assumed an expression of deep concern.

"I find," she continued, "that we must have been making a mistake all along, and you have evidently been misled. This Mr. Brown, who appeared such a mysterious personage to us, and whom we therefore suspected, is no other than Bernard Maddison."

"Yes. I knew that," Mr. Benjamin remarked quietly. "I found that out very soon, of course. Author, and all that sort of thing, isn't he? Well, go on, Miss Thurwell, please. I am anxious."

She looked surprised.

"Don't you see that this does away with our theory at once? It is quite impossible that a man like Bernard Maddison could have committed a horrible crime like this."

Mr. Benjamin looked ingenuously perplexed.

"I can't say that I follow you, Miss Thurwell," he said, shaking his head. "All I know is that I can prove this Mr. Bernard Brown, or Bernard Maddison, or whatever else he chooses to call himself, guilty of that murder. That's what we want, isn't it?"

A cold chill passed over her, and she was compelled to sink into the chair which stood by her side. Like a flash she suddenly realized the impossibility of convincing such men as these of his innocence. Yet, even then, the worst side of the situation did not occur to her.

"Perhaps we had better put it in this way, Mr. Levy," she said. "I gave you certain instructions to follow out, which I now rescind. I wish nothing further done in the matter."

Mr. Benjamin's face was a study. He had contrived to conjure up an expression which combined the blankest surprise with the keenest disappointment. Helen began to feel still more uncomfortable.

"Under the circumstances," she said, "and as you seem rather disappointed, I will pay you the reward just as though the thing had gone on."

Mr. Benjamin shook his head slowly.

"Do you know, Miss Thurwell, that you are proposing a conspiracy to me?"

"A conspiracy!" she repeated. "I don't understand."

"It's very simple," he went on gravely. "I have in my possession, or shortly shall have, every particular of this Mr. Maddison's life. I can show the connection between him and Sir Geoffrey Kynaston, and, in short, I can prove him guilty of murder. What you ask me to do is to suppress this. That is the moral side of the question. Then, with regard to the practical side, if this thing is gone on with, we shall get the reward you promised and, what is far more important to us, a reputation which we have looked forward to as a certain foundation for a great extension of our business. If, on the other hand, we drop it, we get simply the reward, which, pardon my saying so, would be a miserable return for all our labor. That is how the matter stands from our point of view. I think I've expressed it fairly, father?"

Mr. Levy, who had assumed a far more contented expression, solemnly assented. What a son this was of his, he thought. Bless him!

Helen was very pale, and her heart was beating fast. Why had she come to this place, and put herself in the power of these men? It was too dreadful.

"I do not desire to hear a word of Mr. Maddison's history," she said. "This thing must be stopped. I have my cheque book with me. Cannot you take money to withdraw from it?"

Mr. Benjamin looked at his father gravely, and Mr. Levy shook his head.

"My dear young lady," he said, "this is a very serious thing, a very serious thing."

"The fact is," said Mr. Benjamin, "I was going to Scotland Yard for a warrant this morning."

Helen looked from one to the other appealingly, with tears in her eyes. Mr. Benjamin appeared to be somewhat moved thereby.

"Look here, dad," he said, "suppose we go into the other room and talk this thing over for a few minutes. Miss Thurwell will not mind excusing us."

"Oh, no. Only don't be long!" she pleaded.

They left her for barely five minutes, although to her, waiting in an agony of impatience, it seemed much longer. When they returned, they both looked very solemn.

"We have talked this matter over thoroughly, Miss Thurwell," said Mr. Benjamin, taking up his old position at the desk, "and we cannot help seeing that it is a great risk for us to run to suppress our information, and a great disappointment."

"Quite so, quite so," interrupted Mr. Levy. "A great risk, and a great disappointment!"

"Still, we are willing and anxious to help you," Mr. Benjamin continued, "and, if you like, we will do so on these terms. If you like to give us a cheque for a thousand pounds, we will agree to let the matter stand over for the present. We cannot give you any undertaking to absolutely destroy or suppress any evidence we may have against Mr. Maddison, as that would be a distinct conspiracy, but we will agree to suspend our present action, and to do nothing without communicating with you."

She moved to the desk, and drew out her cheque book.

"I will do it," she said. "Give me a pen, please."

There was not the slightest sign of emotion on either of their faces. They received the cheque, bowed her out, and watched her disappear into the street without making any sign. Then Mr. Benjamin's exultation broke out.

"Dad, I told you that our fortune was made, didn't I. Was I right or wrong?"

Mr. Levy was so overcome with parental affection, that he could scarcely command his voice. But he did so with an effort.

"You were right, my son," he exclaimed. "You were right, Benjamin. We will go together and cash the cheque."