"There's a couple of sovereigns for your trouble," said Mr. Tertius, "and there'll be more for you if you do what I tell you to do. At present--that is, until I give you leave--don't say a word of this to a soul. Not even to the police--yet. In fact, not a word to them until I say you may. Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it--I shall know where to find you. If you want me, keep an eye open for me in the square outside, or in the street. When the young lady comes back with the photographs, don't mention the ring to her. This is a very queer business, and I don't want too much said just yet. Do as I tell you, and I'll see you're all right. Understand?" The driver pocketed his sovereigns, and touched his forehead with a knowing look. "All right, sir," he said. "I understand. Depend on me, sir--I shan't say a word without your leave." Peggie came in just then with a half a dozen cabinet photographs in her hand. One by one she exhibited them to the driver. "Do you recognize any of these?" she asked. The driver shook his head doubtingly until Peggie showed him a half-length of her uncle in outdoor costume. Then his eyes lighted up. "Couldn't swear as to the features, miss," he exclaimed. "But I'd take my 'davy about the coat and the hat! That's what the gentleman was wearing as I drove this morning--take my Gospel oath on it." "He recognizes the furred overcoat and the soft hat," murmured Mr. Tertius. "Very good--very good! All right, my man--we are much obliged to you." He went out into the hall with the driver, and had another word in secret with him before the footman opened the door. As the door closed Mr. Tertius turned slowly back to the study. And as he turned he muttered a word or two and smiled cynically. "A diamond ring!" he said. "Jacob Herapath never wore a diamond ring in his life!" CHAPTER VII IS THERE A WILL? When Triffitt hurried off with his precious budget of news Selwood lingered on the step of the office watching his retreating figure, and wondering about the new idea which the reporter had put into his mind. It was one of those ideas which instantly arouse all sorts of vague, sinister possibilities, but Selwood found himself unable to formulate anything definite out of any of them. Certainly, if Mr. Herapath died at, or before, twelve o'clock midnight, he could not have been in Portman Square at one o'clock in the morning! Yet, according to all the evidence, he had been there, in his own house, in his own study. His coachman had seen him in the act of entering the house; there was proof that he had eaten food and drunk liquor in the house. The doctor must have made a mistake--and yet, Selwood remembered, he had spoken very positively. But if he had not made a mistake?--what then? How could Jacob Herapath be lying dead in his office at Kensington and nibbling at a sandwich in Portman Square at one and the same hour? Clearly there was something wrong, something deeply mysterious, something----