From my point of view the most extraordinary part of the affair was that there actually seemed some excuse for the public blundering. Immediately after the arrival at Victoria of the 8.40 from Brighton, it had been discovered that the window of one of the first-class carriages was smashed to shivers, the compartment was stained with blood, and bore every appearance of having been the scene of a recent struggle. That was the very train which had passed while Louise and I had been arguing at the gate--had another little argument been taking place on board the train? But what capped the record was a statement which had been volunteered by a Brighton porter. He declared--or was stated to have declared--that he had shown a lady into the identical compartment in which the window was smashed, just as the train was starting; that the only other passenger the compartment contained was a gentleman, whom, if he saw him again, he thought he should recognise; and--_mirabile dictum!_ he had seen the body which had been found on the line, and in the dead woman had instantly recognised the lady he had shown into the carriage. The question now was--all the world was asking it--where was the gentleman? Yes--where was he? On the Thursday I received another line from Groeden--"Sell Boomjopfs." This recalled to my mind the fact that, by the Monday morning's post, he had counselled me to buy them. I had started Citywards to act on his advice. The curious coincidence of finding Mr. Tennant scribbling Louise's name all over a sheet of paper had prevented my putting my intention into execution. Groeden's latest advice sent me to the money article. Since Monday Boomjopfs had gone up fourteen. What an ass I had truly been! A pretty pile I had thrown away! What little game Mr. Groeden and his friends at Johannesburg were up to, I was not sufficiently in the know to be able to say. I took it that, the bulls having had an innings, the bears were to have their turn. The top price having been reached, the word was "Knock 'em." So off I went to sell what I had been fool enough to just miss buying. I thought that I would give Tennant another try. When I reached Austin Friars I was informed that he was ill--had been away from the office since Monday. While I was hesitating what I should do--whether, that is, I should give a commission to his managing man, or go elsewhere--I heard a voice in the inner office which rather made me cock my ears. The voice was my rascally brother's. He was not speaking in a whisper. His words struck me as queer ones. "If Mr. Tennant takes my advice, he'll see me though he's dying." "I shall see Mr. Tennant at his private address to-night. I will tell him what you say. What name shall I give?" "Name? Tell him the gentleman who came up with him on Sunday night from Brighton."