“You must telegraph to me, Mattie, where you are staying, and when you leave London to return. I may run over to Southampton and come back on the same boat with you. Write to me, my own girl, every day, and here’s a five-pound note to buy your stamps with.” On his sacred promise of honor to write to her himself every day, and to let no black Gallic eyes eclipse her “orbs of English blue,” Mattie Jones allowed her lover an extra liberal allowance of good-bye kisses. While Professor Andrew Fraser, Miss Nadine Johnstone, and the lovelorn Mattie Jones, were escorted to London by a head clerk of the estate’s solicitors, Prince Djiddin and the “Moonshee” unbent their brows and rested from the nervous strain of the three weeks of continued deception. While the happy “Moonshee” escaped to his own fair bride, Prince Djiddin, under Simpson’s guidance, examined minutely the superb modern castle, and even microscopically examined all the beautiful surroundings of Rozel Head. “It may come in handy some day,” mused Major Hardwicke, “especially if we have to aid Nadine Johnstone to escape.” The pseudo-Prince was glad to often steal out alone to the headland overlooking Rozel Pier, and there watch the French luggers beating to seaward sailing like fierce cormorants along the wild coast of St. Malo. He was glad to fill his lungs with the fresh, crisp, salt air, and to commune in safety at length with the faithful Simpson. Securely hid in an angle of the cliff, they talked over all the mystery of Hugh Fraser’s bloody “taking off,” and of the dreary three years of Death in Life left before Nadine. “As for the old master, he was an out and out hard ‘un,” stolidly said Simpson. “Who killed him, nobody knows and nobody cares. I’ve always suspicioned that there Ram Lal and yer fancy friend, this Major Alan Hawke.” Hardwicke started in a sudden alarm. “Why so?” he demanded. “I believe that they tried to blackmail him about some of his old Eurasian love affairs, or else some official secret they had spied out. You see the niggers in the marble house were all Ram Lal’s friends, and any one of them could have left the murderers alone to do their work and then let ‘em out of the house. I believe that Hawke did the job, and Ram Lal got away with some of the missing crown jewels. I’ll tell you, Major Harry, General Willoughby and the magistrates had me under fire there for many a day.” “See here, Simpson,” said Major Hardwicke, “a man who would murder the father, would rob the daughter! I’ll give you a thousand pounds if you instantly notify me, if Hawke ever is found creeping around here. There may be some ugly old family secrets, you know.” “I’m your man! Pay or no pay!” cried Simpson. “Only they think of giving me a three months’ leave on pay to visit my people.” “Don’t go! Don’t go! till I tell you!” cried the Major. “I am glad this fellow Hawke, whom you say has been dropped, is now on his way back to India,” said Simpson.