“Thanks,” smiled Kenyon, “your friendly offices, Garry, are very grateful. And they are much more kindly meant than those of my old co-laborer, Balmacenso.” Webster lifted his brows. “You’ve learned something against that worthy revolutionist, then,” said he. “Yes; among the securities and other papers which I took from Forrester and turned over to Austin were a few letters which I took the liberty of withholding. They were addressed to Forrester and signed with my name--but they were in the handwriting of Balmacenso.” “The blackguard!” exclaimed Austin. “Wasn’t he! It was a neat, carefully laid little plan. From certain angles I have nothing but admiration for it. You see, he opened Forrester’s first letter to me at Rio. I know he did it in the hope that it contained money, for I remember telling him one day that if things did not get better for us, I’d have to send North for a loan. And I had you in mind,” bowing to Webster, with much ceremony. “I should have been most happy,” returned that gentleman, solemnly. “Forrester’s offer must have struck Balmacenso’s fancy. At any rate he answered it, signing my name. Then came other letters carrying the matter farther along, including a number from your grandfather,” to Austin. “Balmacenso must have known that the _Blenheim_ was due at Rio at a certain time, and wrote that he would sail in her. He always used my name, and not once did I get even so much as a breath of any side of the affair. And in his planning he was rather complete, too. He arranged for the place of meeting and the signal by which he was to be known.” “And that was?” “The slapping of a folded newspaper upon the palm of his hand. The latter was scarcely original. It sounds like a ‘personal’ from the _Herald_. Perhaps proximity had something to do with it. Then there was a photo of Balmacenso that had been sent. Dallas fancied I looked like it. So when I, of all persons, happened to appear at the time and place specified, and unconsciously to give the signal, she could not doubt but that I was the man she was waiting for.” “It sounds like something that might have happened to one of the Barber’s Seven Brothers.” “Doesn’t it? But fever was a thing that Balmacenso had not counted on; he had been dead some little time when the _Blenheim_ entered Rio harbor; and instead of _his_ sailing on her, _I_ suddenly made up my mind to do so.” “And so fell into the situation that was to have been his,” said Webster. “It’s plain enough now, old boy. Balmacenso would have grasped right bravely all the things that puzzled you so, that night in Selden’s Square. No doubt but that old Mr. Austin had sent him all the information which the conspirators supposed you to have had. If, now, you only had come upon the rascal’s papers!” “I did make a search among his effects, thinking to get track of some relatives to whom I could send the news of his death. But there was not a scrap of writing to be found.”