"Not much fear of that," he replied, "especially with this beard. I flatter myself it's rather a neat growth." He stroked his chin complacently. She pointed to his high bald forehead, on which was scarred a purple cicatrice--evidently the result of some terrible blow. "That alone is always enough to betray you," she said in a whisper. "Jabez, it was sheer madness for you to return to this country. Remember Mother Mandarin knows everything." "Oh, the old girl's right enough. I always take jolly good care to keep her in good tune. Besides, if it comes to that, I know enough about her to make it pretty hot for her. But you don't ask me what I've been doing, Miriam--I should have thought you'd have taken a bit of interest in a chap, especially when he's done as well as I have. The Cape's treated me pretty well all round, and I've come home with a tidy sum, I can tell you." "Honestly, Jabez?" "Rather--led a dog's life though to get it. I went shares in a claim with a pal. We struck gold, and struck it pretty rich, in no time--in fact, my luck changed as soon as ever I turned my back on this old country. I left my pal out there to look after our little patch; he's a good sort, and I shall be off out again to join him in a couple of months. Perhaps it is a bit risky my knocking about in a free and easy way like this; but to tell you the truth, Miriam, I got such a twist on me for the old place, that I had to pack up my traps and come just for a mouch round. I'm not really afraid. That old affair of mine is pretty stale now--shouldn't wonder even if they'd forgotten all about it by this time." "_That_ business--perhaps, Jabez, though I don't think so. But they are after you for another now!" The man stopped twisting his red moustache, and stared at her in genuine consternation. "What do you mean? What other? There's no other that I know of! 'Pon my soul, Miriam, I don't know what you're talking about." "Mr. Barton was strangled in his house at Lesser Thorpe the night after I met you by the church and gave you twenty pounds!" "Yes; I heard that. It was in the papers a few days after. But what has that to do with me?" "Can't you guess?" cried Miriam vehemently. "They suspect you of the murder!" He jumped from the sofa, and looked round wildly. "Is--is my--do they know my name?" he asked harshly. "No; that is, they know your first name, not your other. They think it's 'Tracey'--Jabez Tracey. I told them so." "Go on; what description have they?" "Small and dark, in fact in every respect the opposite of what you are. About to leave, I said, for New York, _via_ Liverpool. Oh, Jabez, you don't know how hard it was to do it, but I did it to screen you--to keep you safe!" "How on earth did you get at them?--how did they come to suspect me?"