"It is two years since I turned my son out of my house in consequence of his misconduct and disobedience. I forbade him ever to darken my door again, or ever to address me. "In defiance of this command he stole into the house this afternoon during my absence, and though Abel Death endeavoured to keep it from me, I forced the information from him that this scamp of a son of mine intends to come again late to-night. "Impress strongly upon the police that these men are conspiring to rob me. Reginald has in his possession a key to the street door. It is my property. He stole it from me. If he does not get in through the front door he will find some other way. He is better acquainted with the ins and outs of this house than I am myself. He is an ungrateful, worthless scoundrel. They are a pair of scoundrels. "To-morrow I will draw out my will. Reginald knows that it is not made yet. If I were to die to-night all that I possess would fall to him as heir at law, and I am determined he shall have not have a shilling of my money. Not a shilling. He is reckoning, I dare say, upon coming into a fortune. He will find out his mistake. "_Shall_ I see him? I should like to tell him to his face that he will be a beggar all his life, and to tell him, too, that I intend to put the police upon him. "Notation, 2647. S.B." The reading of this document filled Dick with consternation. It supplied, not one, but several new links in the chain of circumstantial evidence. Were it to fall into the hands of the police Reginald's doom would be sealed. There would be only one chance for him--his being able to prove that he had not visited his father's house on the night of March 1st. His bare word would not be sufficient; he must produce witnesses, to show how and where he passed his time on that night. Failing this, the evidence, in the murdered man's own handwriting, would be fatal. It could not be that the murder would remain much longer undiscovered. Mrs. Death's application to the magistrate and the publicity given to the disappearance of her husband, clerk to Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square, in conjunction with the silence and non-appearance of Samuel Boyd himself, would be sure to direct attention to the house, not only on the part of the mystery-mongers who have a passion for such matters, but on the part of the general public. The probability was that in a very short time, perhaps in a few hours, all London would be ringing with this new mystery. He saw, in fancy, the show-bills of the newspapers, and heard the cries of the newsboys as they ran through the streets with successive editions.