Colin’s delight at the thought of Kitty having a fortune of her own was soon swamped by a flood of doubts and suspicions. The remainder of the journey was a sort of nightmare. Of only one thing could he assure himself as he neared London: Kitty’s fortune, were it in danger from persons in London or Dunford, was not going to be made an easier prey by any act of his. At first he had thought of showing the letter to Mr. Risk and asking his advice, but now he determined that his only course was to return to Dunford at the earliest possible moment, and put it into the hands of Kitty herself. He might be losing the chance of his life by such an action, and Mr. Risk might be the best and straightest of men, but Colin was so truly in love with the girl that the hopelessness of it made no difference. Consequently nothing but her happiness mattered. It was about five o’clock when he reached Aberdare Mansions. He was admitted without delay to his employer’s study. Before he could speak, Mr. Risk, with a smile, said— “Sorry I gave you that vain journey, Hayward. This morning a note from Symington came to the office requesting that the new certificates should be delivered to him at the Kingsway _Grand Hotel_.” “Yes; that’s the address his housekeeper gave me, Mr. Risk,” said Colin. “Do you wish me to take the letter there now?” he inquired, producing it. Risk took it and laid it on the writing-table, saying: “About noon I sent the secretary to the hotel with a similar letter, and he found that Mr. Symington had left for Scotland about two hours previously—presumably in response to a wire which the secretary was able to learn he had received.” “Gone back to Dunford?” “We must not assume that. Take a cigarette, Hayward, and, if agreeable to you, tell me in a few words what you know of Mr. Symington.” “Very little, Mr. Risk, and any information I have is indirect. His father and his two brothers all died within a year, and about eighteen months ago he became the owner of what we call the White Farm—a very decent little place until he got possession. He’s not interested in farming, you know. I’ve heard he has done all sorts of things—some pretty queer—in his time. He has the reputation of being a gambler, and a speculator, but please remember that I’m repeating gossip. I”—Colin hesitated—“I really know nothing against the man.” Risk, offering a lighted match, said quietly: “Well, what do you know in his favour?” Colin smiled. “One is more likely to hear of a man’s faults than his virtues. Besides, as I told you, I’ve been more away from Dunford than in it during the last five years or so.” “You are not familiar with the natives?” “Not generally speaking. Still, I hope I have a friend or two among them.” “Would Mr. Symington have been welcome in your home?” “His father would have been courteously received.”