There was an uneasy grin on Merritt's face, a suggestion that he did not altogether trust those around him. Hard experience in the ways of the wicked had taught him the folly of putting his confidence in anyone. Just for the moment the impulse to shuffle was upon him.

"If I say nothing, then I can't do any harm," he remarked, sapiently.
"Best, on the whole, for me to keep my tongue between my teeth."

"Mr. Henson is a dangerous man to cross," Chris suggested.

"He is that," Merritt agreed. "You don't know him as I do."

Chris conceded the point, though she had her own views on that matter. Lord Littimer had seated himself on the broad stone bench along the terrace, whence he was watching the scene with the greatest zest and interest.

"You imagine Mr. Henson to be a friend of yours?" Chris asked.

Merritt nodded and grinned. So long as he was useful to Henson he was fairly safe.

"Mr. Merritt," Chris asked, suddenly, "have you ever heard of
Reuben Taylor?"

The effect of the question was electrical. Merritt's square jaw dropped with a click, there was fear in the furtive eyes that he cast around him.

"I read about Reuben Taylor in one of our very smart papers lately," Chris went on. "It appears that Mr. Taylor is a person who nobody seems to have seen, but who from time to time does a vast service to the community at large. He is not exactly a philanthropist, for he is well rewarded for his labours both by the police and his clients. Suppose Mr. Merritt here had done some wrong."

"A great effort of imagination," Littimer murmured, gently.

"Had done something wrong, and an enemy or quondam friend wants to 'put him away.' I believe that is the correct expression. In that case he does not go to the police himself, because he is usually of a modest and retiring disposition. No, he usually puts down a few particulars in the way of a letter and sends it to Reuben Taylor under cover at a certain address. Is not that quite correct, Mr. Merritt?"

"Right," Merritt said, hoarsely. "Some day we shall find out who Taylor is, and—"

"Never mind that. Do you know that the night before your friend Mr. Henson left the Castle he placed in the post-bag a letter addressed to Mr. Reuben Taylor? In view of what I read recently in the paper alluded to the name struck me as strange. Now, Mr. Merritt, is it possible that letter had anything to do with you?"

Merritt did not appear to hear the question. His eyes were fixed on space; there was a sanguine clenching of his fists as if they had been about the throat of a foe.

"If I had him here," he murmured. "If I only had him here! He's given me away. After all that I have done for him he's given me away."

His listeners said nothing; they fully appreciated the situation. Merritt's presence at the Castle was both dangerous and hazardous for Henson.

"If you went away to-day you might be safe?" Chris suggested.

"Aye, I might," Merritt said, with a cunning grin in his eyes. "If I had a hundred pounds."

Chris glanced significantly at Littimer, who nodded and took up the parable.

"You shall have the money," he said. "And you shall go as soon as you have answered Miss Lee's questions."

Merritt proclaimed himself eager to say anything. But Merritt's information proved to be a great deal less than she had anticipated.

"I stole that picture," Merritt confessed. "I was brought down here on purpose. Henson sent to London and said he had a job for me. It was to get the picture from Dr. Bell. I didn't ask any questions, but set to work at once."

"Did you know what the picture was?" Chris asked.

"Bless you, yes; it was a Rembrandt engraving. Why, it was I who in the first place stole the first Rembrandt from his lordship yonder, in Amsterdam. I got into his lordship's sitting-room by climbing down a spout, and I took the picture."

"But the other belonged to Van Sneck," said Chris.

"It did; and Van Sneck had to leave Amsterdam hurriedly, being wanted by the police. Henson told me that Van Sneck had a second copy of 'The Crimson Blind,' and I had to burgle that as well; and I had to get into Dr. Bell's room and put the second copy in his portmanteau. Why? Ask somebody wiser than me. It was all some deep game of Henson's, only you may be pretty sure he didn't tell me what the game was. I got my money and returned to London, and till pretty recently I saw no more of Henson."

"But you came into the game again," said Littimer.

"Quite lately, your lordship. I went down to Brighton. I was told as Bell had got hold of the second Rembrandt owing to Henson's carelessness, and that he was pretty certain to bring it here. He did bring it here, and I tried to stop him on the way, and he half killed me."

"Those half measures are so unsatisfactory," Littimer smiled.

Merritt grinned. He fully appreciated the humour of the remark.

"That attack and the way it was brought about were suggested by Henson," he went on. "If it failed, I was to come up to the Castle here without delay and tell Henson so. I came, and he covered my movements whilst I pinched the picture. I had been told that the thing was fastened to the wall, but a pair of steel pliers made no odds to that. I took the picture home, and two days later it vanished. And that's all I know about it."

"Lame and impotent conclusion!" said Littimer.

"Wait a moment," Chris cried. "You found the diamond star which you pawned—"

"At your request, miss. Don't go for to say as you've forgotten that."

"I have forgotten nothing," Chris said, with a smile. "I want to know about the cigar-case."

Merritt looked blankly at the speaker. Evidently this was strange ground to him.

"I don't know anything about that," he said. "What sort of a cigar-case?"

"Gun-metal set with diamonds. The same case or a similar one to that purchased by Van Sneck from Walen's in Brighton. Come, rack your brains a bit. Did you ever see anything of Van Sneck about the time of his accident? You know where he is?"

"Yes. He's in the County Hospital at Brighton, He was found in Mr. Steel's house nearly dead. It's coming back to me now. A gun-metal cigar-case set in diamonds. That would be a dull thing with sparkling stones all over it. Of course! Why, I saw it in Van Sneck's hands the day he was assaulted. I recollect asking him where he got it from, and he said that it was a present from Henson. He was going off to meet Henson then by the corner of Brunswick Square."

"Did you see Van Sneck again that day?"

"Later on in the afternoon. We went into the Continental together. Van
Sneck had been drinking."

"You did not see the cigar-case again?"

"No. Van Sneck gave me a cigar which he took from the common sort of case that they give away with seven cigars for a shilling. I asked him if he had seen Henson, and he said that he had. He seemed pretty full up against Henson, and said something about the latter having played him a scurvy trick and he didn't like it, and that he'd be even yet. I didn't take any notice of that, because it was no new thing for Henson to play it low down on his pals."

"Did anything else happen at that interview?" Chris asked, anxiously. "Think! The most trivial thing to you would perhaps be of the greatest importance to us."

Merritt knitted his brows thoughtfully.

"We had a rambling kind of talk," he said. "It was mostly Van Sneck who talked. I left him at last because he got sulky over my refusal to take a letter for him to Kemp Town."

"Indeed! Do you recollect where that letter was addressed to?"

"Well, of course I've forgotten the address; but it was to some writing man—Stone, or Flint, or—"

"Steel, perhaps?"

"That's the name! David Steel, Esq. Van Sneck wanted me to take that letter, saying as it would put a spoke in Reginald Henson's wheel, but I didn't see it. A boy took the letter at last."

"Did you see an answer come back?"

"Yes, some hour or so later. Van Sneck seemed to be greatly pleased with it. He said he was going to make an evening call late that night that would cook Henson's goose. And he was what you call gassy about it: said he had told Henson plump and plain what he was going to do, and that he was not afraid of Henson or any man breathing."

Chris asked no further questions for the moment. The track was getting clearer. She had, of course, heard by this time of the letter presumedly written by David Steel to the injured man Van Sneck, which had been found in his pocket by Dr. Cross. The latter had been written most assuredly in reply to the note Merritt had just alluded to, but certainly not written by David Steel. Who, then, seeing that it was Steel's private note-paper? The more Chris thought over this the more she was puzzled. Henson could have told her, of course, but nobody else.

Doubtless, Henson had started on his present campaign with a dozen different schemes. Probably one of them called for a supply of Steel's note-paper. Somebody unknown had procured the paper, as David Steel had testimony in the form of his last quarter's account. The lad engaged by Van Sneck to carry the letter from the Continental to 15, Downend Terrace, must have been intercepted by Henson or somebody in Henson's pay and given the forged reply, a reply that actually brought Van Sneck to Steel's house on the night of the great adventure. Henson had been warned by the somewhat intoxicated Van Sneck what he was going to do, and he had prepared accordingly.

A sudden light came to Chris. Henson had found out part of their scheme. He knew that David Steel would be probably away from home on the night in question. In that case, having made certain of this, and having gained a pretty good knowledge of Steel's household habits, what easier than to enter Steel's house in his absence, wait for Van Sneck, and murder him then and there?

It was not a pretty thought, and Chris recoiled from it.

"How could Van Sneck have got into Steel's house?" she asked. "I know for a fact that Mr. Steel was not at home, and that he closed the door carefully behind him when he left the house that night."

Merritt grinned at the simplicity of the question. It was not worthy of the brilliant lady who had so far got the better of him.

"Latch-keys are very much alike," he said. "Give me three latch-keys, and I'll open ninety doors out of a hundred. Give me six latch-keys of various patterns, and I'll guarantee to open the other ten."

"I had not thought of that," Chris admitted. "Did Van Sneck happen by any chance to tell you what he and Mr. Henson had been quarrelling about?"

"He was too excited to tell anything properly. He was jabbering something about a ring all the time."

"What sort of a ring?"

"That I can't tell you, miss. I fancy it was a ring that Van Sneck had made."

"Made! Is Van Sneck a working jeweller or anything of that kind?"

"He's one of the cleverest fellows with his fingers that you ever saw. Give him a bit of old gold and a few stones and he'll make you a bracelet that will pass for antique. Half the so-called antiques picked up on the Continent have been faked by Van Sneck. There was that ring, for instance, that Henson had, supposed to be the property of some swell he called Prince Rupert. Why, Van Sneck copied it for him in a couple of days, till you couldn't tell t'other from which."

Chris choked the cry that rose to her lips. She glanced at Littimer, who had dropped his glass, and was regarding Merritt with a kind of frozen, pallid curiosity. Chris signalled Littimer to speak. She had no words of her own for the present.

"How long ago was that?" Littimer asked, hoarsely.

"About seven years, speaking from memory. There were two copies made—one from description. The other was much more faithful. Perhaps there were three copies, but I forget now. Van Sneck raved over the ring; it might have been a mine of gold for the fuss he made over it."

Littimer asked no further questions. But from the glance he gave first to Chris and then to his son the girl could see that he was satisfied. He knew at last that he had done his son a grave injustice—he knew the truth. It seemed to Chris that years had slipped suddenly from his shoulders. His face was still grave and set; his eyes were hard; but the gleam in them was for the man who had done him this terrible injury.

"I fancy we are wandering from the subject," Chris said, with commendable steadiness. "We will leave the matter of the ring out of the question. Mr. Merritt, I don't propose to tell you too much, but you can help me a little farther on the way. That cigar-case you saw in Van Sneck's possession passed to Mr. Henson. By him, or by somebody in his employ, it was substituted for a precisely similar case intended for a present to Mr. Steel. The substitution has caused Mr. Steel a great deal of trouble."

"Seeing as Van Sneck was found half dead in Mr. Steel's house, and seeing as he claimed the cigar-case, what could be proved to be Van Sneck's, I'm not surprised," Merritt grinned.

"Then you know all about it?"

"Don't know anything about it," Merritt growled, doggedly. "I guessed that. When you said as the one case had been substituted for the other, it don't want a regiment of schoolmasters to see where the pea lies. What you've got to do now is to find Mr. Steel's case."

"I have already found it, as I hinted to you. It is at Rutter's, in Moreton Wells. It was sold to them by the gentleman who had given up smoking. I want you to go into Moreton Wells with me to-day and see if you can get at the gentleman's identity."

Mr. Merritt demurred. It was all very well for Chris, he pointed out in his picturesque language. She had her little lot of fish to fry, but at the same time he had to draw his money and be away before the police were down upon him. If Miss Lee liked to start at once—

"I am ready at any moment," Chris said. "In any case you will have to go to Moreton Wells, and I can give you a little more information on the way."

"You had better go along, Frank," Littimer suggested, under his breath. "I fervently hope now that the day is not far distant when you can return altogether, but for the present your presence is dangerous. We must give that rascal Henson no cause for suspicion."

"You are quite right," Frank replied. "And I'd like to—to shake hands now, dad."

Littimer put out his hand, without a word. The cool, cynical man of the world would have found it difficult to utter a syllable just then. When he looked up again he was smiling.

"Go along," he said. "You're a lucky fellow, Frank. That girl's one in a million."

A dog-cart driven by Chris brought herself and her companion into Moreton Wells in an hour, Frank had struck off across country in the direction of the nearest station. The appearance of himself in More ton Wells on the front of a dog-cart from the Castle would have caused a nine days' wonder.

"Now, what I want to impress upon you is this," said Chris. "Mr. Steel's cigar-case was stolen and one belonging to Van Sneck substituted for it. The stolen one was returned to the shop from which it was purchased almost immediately, so soon, indeed, that the transaction was never entered on the books. We are pretty certain that Reginald Henson did that, and we know that he is at the bottom of the mystery. But to prevent anything happening, and to prevent our getting the case back again, Henson had to go farther. The case must be beyond our reach. Therefore, I decline to believe that it was a mere coincidence that took a stranger into Lockhart's directly after Henson had been there to look at some gun-metal cigar-cases set in diamonds. The stranger purchased the case, and asked for it to be sent to the Metropole to 'John Smith.' With the hundreds of letters and visitors there it would be almost impossible to trace the case or the man."

"Lockhart's might help you?"

"They have as far as they can. The cigar-case was sold to a tall
American. Beyond that it is impossible to go."

A meaning smile dawned on Merritt's face.

"They might have taken more notice of the gentleman at Rutter's," he said, "being a smaller shop. I'm going to admire that case and pretend it belonged to a friend of mine."

"I want you to try and buy it for me," Chris said, quietly.

Rutter's was reached at length, and after some preliminaries the cigar-case was approached. Merritt took it up, with a well-feigned air of astonishment.

"Why, this must have belonged to my old friend, B—," he exclaimed.
"It's not new?"

"No, sir," the assistant explained. "We purchased it from a gentleman who stayed for a day or two here at the Lion, a friend of Mr. Reginald Henson."

"A tall man?" said Merritt, tentatively. "Long, thin beard and slightly marked with small-pox? Gave the name of Rawlins?"

"That's the gentleman, sir. Perhaps you may like to purchase the case?"

The purchase was made in due course, and together Chris and her queer companion left the shop.

"Rawlins is an American swindler of the smartest type," said Merritt. "If you get him in a corner ask him what he and Henson were doing in America some two years ago. Rawlins is in this little game for certain. But you ought to trace him by means of the Lion people. Oh, lor'!"

Merritt slipped back into an entry as a little, cleanshaven man passed along the street. His eyes had a dark look of fear in them.

"They're after me," he said, huskily. "That was one of them. Excuse me, miss."

Merritt darted away and flung himself into a passing cab. His face was dark with passion; the big veins stood out on his forehead like cords.

"The cur," he snarled—"the mean cur! I'll be even with him yet. If I can only catch the 4.48 at the Junction I'll be in London before them. And I'll go down to Brighton, if I have to foot it all the way, and, once I get there, look to yourself, Reginald Henson. A hundred pounds is a good sum to go on with. I'll kill that cur—I'll choke the life out of him. Cabby, if you get to the Junction by a quarter to five I'll give you a quid."

"The quid's as good as mine, sir," cabby said, cheerfully. "Get along, lass."

Meanwhile Chris had returned thoughtfully to the dog-cart, musing over the last discovery. She felt quite satisfied with her afternoon's work. Then a new idea struck her. She crossed over to the post-office and dispatched a long telegram thus:—

"To David Steel, 15, Downend Terrace, Brighton.

"Go to Walen's and ascertain full description of the tentative customer who suggested the firm should procure gun-metal cigar-case for him to look at. Ask if he was a tall man with a thin beard and a face slightly pock-marked. Then telephone result to me here. Quite safe, as Henson is away. Great discoveries to tell you.—CHRISTABEL LEE."

Chris paid for her telegram and then drove thoughtfully homeward.