The color in John's face deepened and then paled. The look of bewilderment that had shone out of his eyes for a moment or two changed to one of indignation. He seemed to swallow something down, then with quiet dignity he said, "You must pardon me, Mr. Avison, if I altogether fail to see where what you term the ignominy comes in. Through a series of unfortunate accidents, some of which I frankly confess myself utterly at a loss to explain, a terrible suspicion was cast upon me; of that suspicion my imprisonment and subsequent trial were the inevitable outcome. But, sir, the verdict of a jury of my countrymen has cleared me from any complicity in a crime of which you, knowing me as you do, ought to be one of the last men in the world to believe me guilty." Mr. Avison chose to ignore the latter part of John's dignified protest. "Yes," he said, in his chilliest tones, "it is precisely because there are so many circumstances connected with the case which still lack explanation, that----" Then he paused, staring with glassy, contracted eyes at John. John started to his feet with flaming eyes and quivering nostrils. "Do you mean to imply, sir, that any suspicion, even the slightest, still lingers in your mind that I was in any way privy to the death of Mr. Hazeldine?" "I mean to imply nothing, Brancker. I am not in the habit of dealing in implications. After careful consideration of all the circumstances, I have deemed it advisable that you and I should part, at least for a time; for which reason it is that I have interested myself in your favor with my relative, Mr. Pencathlow, who will, I am sure----" "Mr. Avison, not another word is needed," broke in John, with an abrupt wave of his arm. "If those are your sentiments towards me, then, indeed, the sooner you and I part the better." CHAPTER XVI. A LETTER AND ITS REPLY.