when pallant made this remarkable statement he looked up sharply to see how dora was affected by it. her face had flushed hotly, and her eyes had brightened. in place of sorrow, her whole expression was that of relief and gladness. pallant could not forbear a cynical remark on her want of feeling.

"you do not seem sorry to hear that your father is dead, miss carew."

"i do not know why i should display a sorrow which i do not feel," she replied quietly. "you must remember, mr. pallant, that my parents are nothing to me. i was taken away from them when i was a year old, and i have no feeling of love towards them. i am glad that my father is dead."

"may i ask why?"

"because, had he lived, he might have been guilty of murder. at least, i am spared the dishonour of having a criminal for a parent."

pallant chuckled, and seemed about to speak. however, he thought better of it, and merely turned away his face to hide a peculiar smile. dora took little notice of his action, being absorbed in her own thoughts.

"is this what you told mr. edermont in the conversation you had with him?"

"yes. i was sorry for the miserable little creature. the thought of carew roaming the earth in search of him was his constant nightmare. it did not matter to me whether he knew or not. certainly, it did not affect my plans, so--i never inflict useless cruelty, miss carew--i told him the truth: that his lifelong enemy was dead and buried; that henceforward he could sleep in safety."

"the result proved your assertions to be false."

"what is that to me?" said pallant with a shrug. "i am no prophet, to foretell the day and hour of a man's death. i said that carew was past harming him. that was true. carew did not kill him."

"then who did?"

"my dear young lady, if i could tell you that i should be the richer by fifty thousand pounds; but on that point i am as ignorant as you are. i held your father in my arms when he died; i saw him buried. it was not carew who killed dargill, alias edermont, and there is nothing in the story told to me by your father likely to throw light on the mystery."

"you--you do not think my mother killed him?" faltered dora.

pallant scoffed at the idea.

"could those little hands wield a heavy club? could those weak muscles deliver so terrible a blow? no, miss carew; your mother is too weak, too--if i dare say so--cowardly, to do such a thing. she is as innocent of this death as your father. dargill's fate is not due to the vendetta of the past."

"it must be due to something of the sort, mr. pallant. no one had any interest in killing so harmless a man."

"no one in this neighbourhood, you mean."

"yes; i have lived here all my life, and i know everything about my guardian. he had few friends, and lived quietly among his books and flowers. beyond his constant fear lest my father should find him out, i never saw him distressed in any way. and in some things mr. edermont was as transparent as a child. if he had been threatened by any person about here, i should have known of it."

"then you think his death must be due to what took place twenty years ago?"

"don't you think so yourself, mr. pallant?"

"no, miss carew, i do not," replied the red-haired man quietly. "if your father had lived i might have held a different opinion. but, knowing the story of the past, you can see for yourself that, excepting carew, no one had any motive or desire to kill dargill."

"then what is your own theory?" asked dora, rather confounded by this argument.

"burglary. yes! mr. edermont was known to be rich; this house is in a lonely situation, and i dare say the burglar made himself acquainted with the garrison of the mansion. two women and one old man--small odds against a sturdy villain. inspector jedd, of canterbury, is also of my opinion. the burglar, or burglars, broke in, ransacked the desk, killed edermont, who interrupted them, and then bolted. that is my theory, miss carew."

"i do not agree with you," replied dora calmly; "you forget that nothing was taken out of the bureau but that manuscript containing the story of the past."

"how do you know that the manuscript was in the bureau?"

"mr. edermont said so in his will."

"nevertheless, he might have changed its hiding-place," said pallant coolly, "or my information that his enemy was dead might have induced him to burn it as useless. with the death of carew ceased all necessity to keep that story in writing. and again, miss carew, how do you know but that money or jewels may have been hidden in the bureau?"

"it is possible, but not probable," replied dora cautiously; "i don't think mr. edermont kept anything there save bills and letters. no doubt he preserved also the packet of letters you wished to obtain."

"and which he gave to lady burville," said pallant. "very possibly. i was vexed at not getting those letters."

"what information did they contain?"

"much that i know, and you don't," answered pallant; "they related to you."

"to me!" cried dora in surprise. "what about me?"

"ah!" said pallant grimly, "that is exactly what i wanted to find out. however, lady burville has them now, and she'll keep them."

he made this speech in a tone of such genuine regret that dora saw he was in earnest. it was no use questioning him upon matters of which he was ignorant, so she changed the subject.

"you warned me once against allen scott," said she, after a pause. "did that mean you believed him to be guilty?"

"no. at the time i made the remark edermont was alive. why i warned you was to make you give up the idea of marriage with him. i know from lady burville that scott was here on the night the crime was committed; but for all that i do not believe him to be guilty."

"i am thankful to hear you say so, mr. pallant."

"you need not be," replied pallant coldly. "if i thought scott was guilty, i should have no hesitation in denouncing him. but i do not see what motive he had to commit so terrible a crime. he could not win you for a wife by doing so; he could not gain a fortune, and he would be running into danger without hope of reward. no; allen scott is innocent."

"i believe he is myself," said dora emphatically; "but you know, mr. pallant, he refuses to tell me the secret which mr. edermont confided to him, and which prevents our marriage."

"he is quite right to do so, miss carew. i know that secret also, and it would do you no good to learn it. besides, that knowledge had nothing to do with the death of mr. edermont."

"but what about the paper taken out of the bureau?"

"if it was not destroyed," said pallant, "it is hard to say what became of it. the manuscript, as we are told by the will, contained the story of mr. edermont's past life. now, through carew i know that story, and therefore the contents of that paper. excepting carew himself, i know no one who would have killed your guardian for the possession of that written information."

"but undoubtedly the murder was committed to gain possession of the manuscript."

"we don't agree on that point," said pallant; "but granting for the sake of argument it was so, that is exactly why i can't name the assassin. if the possession of that paper was essential to his safety, if his name was mentioned in it in connection with the past of mr. edermont, i am ignorant of some of the past. evidently carew did not tell me all."

"it is just as well he did not," said dora, curling her lip; "you have made bad use of what you do know."

"oh, a man must live, you know," retorted pallant coolly, as he rose to take his leave. "i prefer to get money without work, if i can. we all do."

"i'll put a stop to your----"

"quite right," was the insolent answer, "if you can; but you see, my dear young lady, you can't."

after which remark pallant bowed himself out of the room. dora accompanied him as far as the gate, and as he passed through she asked him a question which had been in her mind all the time of the interview. "why did you come down here?" she asked abruptly. "it was not to condole with me."

"no, it wasn't," candidly admitted pallant; "but i want fifty thousand pounds, and i thought you might help me to get it."

"i decline to do so," said dora coldly; "and i don't see how i can help you."

"as you decline to give your aid," said pallant quietly, "there is no necessity to discuss the matter. but i fancied you might be able to tell me something about mr. joad."

"you don't think he killed edermont?"

"why not? certainly i did not know his name in connection with mr. edermont's past. but for all that he might have killed his patron."

"for what reason, mr. pallant?"

"that is just where i require to be enlightened by you."

"i am afraid i cannot enlighten you," she replied, "and i would not if i could. there is no sense in believing joad killed my guardian. in the first place, far from being desirable, mr. edermont's death was a bad thing to happen for joad's comfort. in the second, mr. joad was in his cottage at one o'clock in the morning, as was proved by mr. pride. to my own knowledge, the murder was committed about that time, so mr. joad could not have been the assassin."

"it all seems clear enough," said pallant, preparing to climb into the trap which was waiting for him; "but, all the same, i mistrust joad. you say the murder was committed at one o'clock. joad says he was in his cottage at one o'clock, and calls upon mr. pride to substantiate his statement. very good. we will believe all that. but," added pallant, gathering up the reins, "your clock in the hall might have been wrong."

after which remark he raised his hat, and drove off smiling. dora did not think that his remark about the clock was worthy of consideration, for she had set her watch by it before retiring to bed on the night of the second of august. it was right then, and no one could possibly have put it wrong in the meantime. joad had proved his alibi clearly enough, and there was no possible suspicion that he was guilty of the crime, especially as its committal had not been to his advantage.

curiously enough, joad knew nothing of pallant's visit, nor did dora intend to inform him of it. he had been in the library all the morning, reading ancient books, and sipping brandy out of the flask he carried constantly in the tail pocket of his dingy coat. not wishing to disturb him in the midst of his pleasures, dora returned to her own sitting-room, and sat down to think. while thus employed, mrs. tice entered the room with a letter in her hand. she looked distressed.

"my dear young lady," she said hastily, "i am afraid i must return to mr. allen. he is ill."

"ill!" cried dora, jumping up. "what is the matter with him?"

"i fancy he has fretted himself into a kind of fever," said mrs. tice, glancing at the letter. "this has just been sent over. emma wrote it." emma was a servant in scott's house. "mr. allen did not want me to be told, but emma thought it best i should know. i must really return and nurse my dear mr. allen," concluded mrs. tice, smoothing down her apron with trembling hands.

"you shall go this afternoon," cried dora. "i'll send meg to the hotel for a trap, and we will go over together."

mrs. tice smiled and looked grateful.

"i hope you won't think me unkind, miss carew?"

"oh dear no! meg will protect me against joad," said dora. and, after a pause, she added abruptly: "you do not ask me what i was doing in london yesterday."

"i did not think you wished to let me know, miss. you refused to tell me last night."

"i know i did; but i'll tell you now, because you may be able to help me. mrs. tice," said dora solemnly, "i have seen lady burville."

"yes, miss; and what of that?" asked mrs. tice cheerfully.

"do you know who lady burville is?"

"i know nothing about her, miss, save she's a patient of mr. allen's."

"then i'll tell you, mrs. tice: she is my mother."

the housekeeper's ruddy face paled, and she sat down on the nearest chair.

"your mother, miss carew! are you sure?"

"i am certain. lady burville informed me of the relationship, and told me her story."

"in that case," said mrs. tice with emphasis, "you know now why a marriage between you and mr. allen is impossible."

"that is just what i do not know," was dora's reply. "my mother did not tell me all her story. now, i want you to relate what she kept hidden."

"tell me what you have heard, miss, and i'll see," said mrs. tice, after a pause.

"very good," said dora, taking a seat near the old dame. "i'll tell my story, you will tell yours, and between us we may save allen's life."