As I returned to my desk I found myself murmuring the word _two_. I had the most difficult part of my task still before me, but so far the two opening campaigns had been brilliant successes. I wondered if the Gascoyne family in general realised how much nearer I was to the succession. Probably with the exception of Mr. Gascoyne and his niece they had no idea of my existence. I took out the genealogical tree and studied it carefully, although there was little need of this, as I could have passed an examination in the entire history of the Gascoynes up to date at any moment. There were now four lives between me and the object of my ambition. My great-uncle Henry, who was now very nearly ninety years of age, lived somewhere in the North of England. It was not necessary to consider him in any way. He was a widower without children. There was Ughtred, the uncle of the present peer, still a man in the prime of life. He might yet marry and have a family. He was devoted to good living and had a reputation as a dilettante. I had never seen him, but he had held office at Court, and was altogether rather an important person. My difficulties would come when I arrived at the main branch of the family, and I reserved them for the final stroke. I should then be obviously near the succession and might be suspected of motives. A great many eyes would be upon me, and there would probably be a young baby and his perfectly healthy father to deal with. I began to realise that so far I had merely nibbled at my task. It was advisable to give myself rest for a few months, as I discovered that after each campaign my nerve was apt to be slightly affected. I had proved to my own satisfaction that the dictum, ‘murder will out,’ was invented to frighten mankind, had in fact been set up as a perpetual bogey. Nat Holway’s guilt might be discovered, but the tracing of my anonymous letter would be an almost impossible task. I was very anxious to know how Janet Gray’s affair was progressing, and rather hoped I might be asked to stay at the Grange for a day or two. I gathered as time went on that the friendship between Miss Gascoyne and her aunt had grown stronger and stronger. Mr. Gascoyne told me that their attachment was a great relief to him, that the companionship of her niece had to a great extent dissipated his wife’s melancholy, and that having a common sorrow they were very much in sympathy. “They admire each other, and it is the dignified and warm friendship of two women to whom respect is essential. By the way, Israel, the girl Janet Gray is married.” “Indeed?” “Yes, to a young miller called Nat Holway. He is very steady and very well-to-do. I almost wondered——” He pulled himself up abruptly. “Yes, sir?” I queried. “Nothing, nothing.” I knew what he had intended to say, and fervently wished that he would get rid of his vague suspicions.