‘Soon after this final step I discovered, to my equal grief and astonishment, that Miss Juana had left her father’s house--doubtless he had practically driven her forth--and was earning her living in a travelling circus. I ascertained where the circus was, and I had an interview with Miss Juana one night after the performance. Miss Juana was in her circus-dress, a curiously showy riding-habit, and she had paint on her dear face. The interview was inexpressibly painful to me. I cannot narrate it in full. ‘I said: “Miss Juana, marry me. I implore you! Never mind your father’s consent. Anything to save you from this. I implore you to marry me! I love you more than ever.” ‘I did not tell her that I had no means of livelihood now. I had absolutely forgotten the fact. ‘She replied: “Why, Mr. Featherstone, I am getting an honest living.” ‘I said again: “Marry me.” ‘I could not argue. ‘She said: “A year ago I would have married you. I liked you. But I cannot marry you now.” ‘I asked madly: “Why?” ‘She replied: “Things have happened in the meantime.” ‘I returned to London last night and bought a revolver. It is my intention to kill myself in Mr. Craig’s own room while he is out at lunch. This seems to me proper, but I may be mad. Who knows? My brain may be unhinged. As for my oath of secrecy, Raphael Craig cannot demand secrecy from a dead man. If this document leads to his punishment, let it. I care not. And Juana, as she says herself, is getting an honest living. She is independent of her terrible father. ‘It is half-past one o’clock in the morning. In twelve hours I shall be in the beyond. I will place this statement in a vase on the mantelpiece. Let who will find it. ‘Given under my dying hand, ‘Robert J. Dalrymple Featherstone.’ ***** When Simon Lock had finished the perusal of this document he passed his hand before his eyes. The dead man’s handwriting, although perfectly clear, was so fine that even the delicate shades of Simon Lock’s electric chandelier had not been able to prevent the august financier from feeling the effects of the strain; but the condition of his eyes was a trifle. He experienced a solid and satisfying joy--such joy as he had not felt for a very long time. ‘You have read it?’ he questioned Oakley. ‘I took that liberty, sir,’ said Oakley, who was now the old Oakley again--formal, dry, submissive. ‘And what did you think of it, Oakley?’ ‘I thought, sir, that it might prove useful to you.’ ‘Did you assume that I was the unnamed man against whom this wonderful Raphael Craig is directing what he calls his vengeance?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Ah!’ breathed Simon Lock. ‘I’ve just got this in time.’ ‘You think that you have got it in time, sir?’ ‘Yes, my young friend. It is a nice question whether it constitutes legal evidence, but anyhow, it constitutes a lever which I think I can use pretty effectively upon Mr. Craig.’ ‘Then you deem it valuable, sir?’ ‘Yes,’ said Simon Lock.