‘I must inform you of another thing. While in Limerick and the district I met this Nolan, the detective. He had another name there. I know now, from what my sister has told me, that he must have been investigating the early history of my mother, and my real and false fathers, for some purpose of the police. But I judge him as I found him. He was very kind to me once, and I liked him. He was the personification of good-nature and good temper. When our ways parted he expressed the certain hope that we should meet again. We have met again, under circumstances extremely painful. He has not yet recognised me. You may ask, father,’ she went on, turning to Raphael Craig, ‘why I came back to your house to-day. There were two reasons. It is three months since I learnt about my parentage, and during the whole of that time I have been debating with myself whether or not to come and have it out with you. I inclined more and more to having a clear understanding, not only for my own sake, but for Teresa’s. Then, the second reason, the circus folk had begun to talk. There were jealousies, of course; and the rumour that my birth was surrounded by doubtful mysteries somehow got afoot in the tents. I decided to leave. Here I am. I came prepared for peace; but you, father, have decided otherwise. I shall leave to-morrow morning, We have no claim on each other. Mr. Redgrave, that is all I have to say.’ She ceased. Richard bowed, and looked expectantly towards the old man, but the old man said nothing. ‘I have the right to ask you, sir,’ said Richard, ‘for your version of what Miss Juana has just told us.’ ‘We will talk of that to-morrow,’ answered the old man testily. ‘We will talk of that to-morrow.’ ‘It is already to-morrow,’ said Juana scornfully. There was a sudden tremendous racket overhead. A scream could be heard from Bridget, and a loud, confused chattering from Nolan. The latter rushed violently half-way downstairs, his eyes burning, Mrs. Bridget after him. [Illustration: 0206] ‘I tell you I won’t stay there!’ he shouted. ‘It’s unlucky--that room where Featherstone slept the night before he killed himself! It’s unlucky!’ The restless patient sank on the stairs, exhausted by the exertion. Before Richard could do anything, Mrs. Bridget, that gaunt and powerful creature, had picked up the little man, and by great effort carried him away again. The people downstairs saw no more of him. Mrs. Bridget had at last made up her mind to take him firmly in hand. Richard was startled by a light touch on his shoulder, and he was still more startled when he caught the horror-struck face of Juana--the staring eyes, the drawn mouth. ‘Tell me,’ she said, her finger still on his shoulder--‘tell me--I cannot trust him--has Mr. Featherstone committed suicide? Is he dead?’ ‘Yes,’ said Richard, extremely mystified, but judging that simple candour would be the best course to adopt under the circumstances. ‘There was an inquest. Didn’t you see it in the papers?’