Mr. Sarsby, like most men of his stamp, when brought in touch with larger things than his world knew of, was nervous and helpless. He seemed to throw the whole weight of further action upon this stranger at whose instigation he had commenced the search. The reading-room was empty except for these two men. Deane was sitting in the little bow window, looking down with apparent interest into the narrow, tortuous street. Sarsby, with a pile of torn and crumpled newspapers in front of him, was still standing, leaning over the long table in the centre of the room. His search was finished. He had no doubt whatever in his mind. The murdered man was indeed Ruby's uncle! "Mr. Deane!" he exclaimed hoarsely. Deane turned his head. "Well?" "There's no doubt at all about it," declared Mr. Sarsby, striking the little pile of papers with the back of his hand. "It's the man--it's Ruby's uncle! The date of his arrival corresponds, and the hotel is the one from which he wrote to Ruby." Deane nodded. "I fancied that it must be the same," he said. "It is the same," Mr. Sarsby declared. "What are we to do? Something must be done at once!" "Exactly," Deane remarked. "Your niece, of course, must claim her inheritance--that is, if the man was really worth anything." "Of course!--Of course!" Mr. Sarsby said. "Dear me, what an unfortunate business this all is! I suppose I must go to London with her, and London always upsets me horribly." "I am afraid that you must make up your mind to that," Deane remarked. "As I said before, if there is anything I can do to help you, I shall be delighted." "But you won't be there," Mr. Sarsby said. "You are going from here to Scotland." Deane hesitated. "I might," he said,--"in fact I think that I certainly should,--go to Scotland by way of London." "But we must leave at once!" Mr. Sarsby declared. "At least I suppose so." Deane rose to his feet. He had not much sympathy for the frightened little man, whose eyes were continually seeking his as though for help and advice. "Well," he said, "I scarcely see how you can keep away, under the circumstances. You must talk it over with your niece, and let me know what you decide." They left the place together. As they stepped out on to the pavement, Mr. Sarsby coughed apologetically. "I suppose," said he, "you would consider it necessary for me to tell my niece about this? It will be a shock to her, of course. She had hoped so much from the coming of this uncle, and I am afraid that she is not particularly contented here." "I scarcely see," Deane answered, "how you can keep it from her." "There is no mention of any property," Mr. Sarsby remarked,--"none at all. In fact, the papers say that his effects were so small that it seemed difficult to believe that robbery was the motive of the crime. Still, I suppose she must be told."