"Yesterday," he began quietly, "I held an interview with my sister-in-law. It was not an amicable interview; we have been on unfriendly terms since--since the night of the masquerade." "Since the masquerade?" "During that interview," continued Alan, "Mrs. Warburton gave me the brief outline of what seemed to me a very improbable story." "Ah!" There was a new shade in the lawyer's voice. "And I am wondering," Alan goes on, "if your letter contains that same story." "Possibly," said Mr. Follingsbee dryly. "This note which you have given me, and which bears no signature, seems to indicate as much. Are you acquainted with its contents, sir?" "I am not." There is a growing crispness in the lawyer's tone, which Alan is not slow to note. "Then oblige me by reading it." Mr. Follingsbee took the note and read it slowly. "Don't you think," he said, looking up from its perusal, "that we had better begin by understanding each other?" "I do." "Very good: this note was left with me by--by such a man as I described to you." "By a man in disguise?" "Just so. This--this man in disguise, came to me in your behalf." "In my behalf!" exclaimed Alan, in amazement. "In your behalf. He told me you were in danger, and that the man you had most cause to fear was a certain detective: Van Vernet." Alan Warburton stirred uneasily in his chair, and the old haughty look came slowly into his face. "He said," went on the lawyer slowly, "that because of your pride, and your obstinacy, you were involving not only yourself but others, in a net that might, if your present course continued, ruin you utterly, and bring upon your cherished family honor a disagreeable blot, if not absolute disgrace. He did not give me an idea of the nature of the difference between yourself and this Vernet, but he laid out a very pretty plan by which to baffle him. And he said, as he went away: 'If Alan Warburton, under all his pride and obstinate clinging to a wrong idea, possesses the sound judgment that I believe him to have--and it's a pity he has not made better use of it,--he will confide in you, and act upon your advice, if not upon mine. Let him do this and we will baffle Vernet, and his precious secret will not be dragged to the light. Let him continue in his present course, and Van Vernet will have his hand upon him within a week; the affair of this afternoon should convince him of this.'" During this remarkable speech, Alan's face had taken on a variety of expressions. At the closing sentence he gave a quick start, and then sat perfectly still, with his profile toward his companion. After a time he turned his face toward the lawyer; and that personage, looking anxiously for a reply or comment, could read upon the handsome countenance only calm resolve and perfect self-control. "Mr. Follingsbee," he began gravely, "do you understand this allusion to the events of the afternoon?" "I do not." "And yet you have confidence in this disguised stranger?"