piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have

described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were

burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. You must

assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this,

you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do you

understand?”


“Entirely.”


“Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think

that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while

theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the pressing

danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish

the guilty parties.”


“I thank you,” said the young man, rising and pulling on his

overcoat. “You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as

you advise.”


“Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the

meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened

by a very real and imminent danger. How do you go back?”


“By train from Waterloo.”


“It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may

be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely.”


“I am armed.”


“That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case.”


“I shall see you at Horsham, then?”


“No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it.”


“Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the

box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular.” He

shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed and the

rain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed

to have come to us from amid the mad elements—blown in upon us like a

sheet of sea-weed in a gale—and now to have been reabsorbed by them once

more.