His advertisement: ‘A gentleman with capital would be glad to hear of a partnership in a going concern, or a business for sale,’ brought him hosts of answers. Several of them were of the usual description, and not worth troubling about. One, however, attracted his attention on account of its absurdity. The writer was anxious to meet with a gentleman of capital, as he had an idea which only needed capital to develop. This idea was to start an office and have a trained staff for the recovery of all offered rewards. The writer pointed out that in every day’s paper there were several hundreds of pounds offered for the recovery of lost or stolen property, for the detection of criminals, and for the addresses of missing friends. His letter concluded by pointing out an instance of a large reward still to be had, which, he was sure, with a little trouble and some outlay, might be gained. He alluded to the thousand-pound reward offered by the railway company for the discovery of the gold-robbers. No confederate dare come forward, he explained, but a couple of hundred pounds might induce a confederate to give a clue to private individuals which he dare not impart to the authorities. Marston flung the letter from him with an expression of rage. Was this wretched business, which he would give the world to forget, always to be flaunted before his eyes in some form or other? He had just risen from perusing his answers when the servant informed him that a gentleman wished to see him on most particular business. ‘What is the gentleman like?’ he asked, half fearing that his persecution had commenced. The servant described him. It was no one that Marston knew. ‘Show him into the library,’ he said. ‘I’ll come directly.’ It was not without some slight misgiving that Marston went to see his visitor. He had always an undefined dread of something unpleasant. The gentleman in the library was an ordinary individual with a professional cut about his clothes. He rose as Mr. Marston entered, and bowed politely. ‘Mr. Edward Marston, I presume?’ Marston nodded, and motioned his visitor to resume his seat. ‘I come on professional business, sir. I am one of the firm of Doddle and Co., solicitors. The senior partner is from town, or he would have called upon you himself. We ascertained that Miss Ruth Adrian was no longer Miss Ruth Adrian (a professional smile), and—ah—we thought, perhaps, under the peculiar circumstances we had better call ourselves and see you.’ What did the man mean? What could solicitors have to do with Ruth and himself?’ ‘You see,’ continued the gentleman, ‘a very large sum of money is concerned.’ ‘Pray explain, sir,’ faltered Marston. ‘I really don’t understand you yet.’ ‘Well, do you remember a daring burglary some time ago at the residence of Squire Heritage?’ ‘Burglary—burglary!’ gasped Marston. ‘No; what should I know about burglaries?’