Could this be the same John Dinsmore that his bullet had left dying upon the sands of Newport? he wondered, in the greatest of excitement, which he did his best to hide. “The whole thing came out in a New York paper--which just came in an hour ago. That tells as much about Mr. Dinsmore as they can find out--I mean the people who are looking for him to tell him about his fortune. Would you like to read it while I am attending to other duties which require my presence?” asked the landlord. “Yes,” responded Challoner, and his voice sounded hoarse and unnatural--like nothing human. He was thankful that he was alone when he read the story of the great fortune which would be John Dinsmore’s for the acceptance. He read that he was at the time of writing of the newspaper article a guest of the Ocean Hotel at Newport. It was the same printed column which Queenie Trevalyn had read--and there followed another column, telling the success of the new book which had just made him world famous. There was no reason left to doubt the identity of the man, for a fine picture of John Dinsmore--true to life, as he had known him--accompanied the notice, and column of praise. Ray Challoner laid down the paper with trembling hands. He stared straight before him, seeing nothing. His thoughts are chaos, his brain whirls, and out of this chaos comes a train of thought that fairly takes his breath away. He leaps from his seat and begins to pace up and down the floor of the deserted barroom like a madman. The cold perspiration stands out in beads upon his forehead. “It is a daring scheme, but why should I not accomplish it?” he argues, clinching his hands tightly together. “John Dinsmore is dead; why should not I, with the aid of the doctor at Newport, who would sell his very soul for gold, gain possession of the important papers which were upon his person--and--pass myself off for Dinsmore--gain possession of the fortune--turn it into cash--and then--leave this country forever? There would be but one thing to fear--and that is--coming across any of the fellow’s former friends--well I certainly am clever enough to keep out of their way. It is a bold stroke for a fortune, but none but the most daring would ever attempt it--I have nothing to lose and everything to gain; yes, by the eternal! I’ll risk it.” He did not like the idea of the girl thrown into the breach, but if he could not gain possession of the fortune without wedding her--the horrible, elfish creature he had encountered--why, wed her he would--and desert her later. When the landlord returned, he found his guest still pacing restlessly up and down the floor. As he approached, the young man turned to him, saying, hoarsely: “Landlord, I have a little secret to confide to you; I had thought of not telling it until--well, until I return to Greenville some few days later--but, I fancy that you suspect the truth, and I might as well confess it to you: I am John Dinsmore, the heir of Blackheath Hall.”