"No; he was too quick for me. I slipped as hard as I could to his chambers in Embankment Mansions in Whitehall Court, but he was not in them. They were closed and locked." "Embankment Mansions in Whitehall Court," I repeated. "That is where Colonel Napier lives." And as I uttered the name of the dead officer I scrutinised every line on Casteno's face. "Of course it is," he responded, and not the smallest sign of excitement did he exhibit. "Paul, for some years, has had a set of chambers over the flat occupied by Colonel Napier. He has got one of those wild, hopeless passions that sometimes seize the lowly born for girls in the higher ranks of life, for Miss Napier." "Not Miss Doris Napier!" I interjected. "Oh yes, Miss Doris. The thing is almost laughable--except for Paul, who is absolutely crazy on the subject, and who has often told me that on the day you are formally engaged to her he will shoot you like a dog." "Pleasant for me," I observed, "extremely pleasant. Your father and I are old friends; how is it he didn't warn me?" "He always hoped that Paul would come to his senses. He was ashamed of the lad's madness. He trusted that some other girl would appear on the scene to fascinate Paul. Besides, he did tell Colonel Napier about it. The colonel and he are related, as a matter of fact. Both of them married step-sisters; but my mother died many years ago." "I had no idea of this." "No doubt," returned the Spaniard courteously. "Lovers don't usually trouble to inquire as to the relations of the girls they love until after marriage. If they did, cynics say that they would spare themselves a good many highly unpleasant surprises. The colonel, of course, was equally annoyed about this infatuation, and I am told that only a few days ago he met Paul on the stairs of the flat and gave him a good beating with his cane for daring to send Miss Napier a bunch of flowers. Perhaps, however, this is only idle gossip. I heard it from a servant whom my father had recently dismissed. He said that Paul was so incensed at this outrage that he would have stabbed the colonel dead on the spot if he had had his dagger with him. Luckily, he had forgotten that morning to fasten it on--" "I am not so sure about that," I answered slowly and with great distinctness, "although, now I came to think of it, I did recollect that in the old days Doris had told me a good deal about the persecutions she had suffered from the ridiculous attentions of a foreign boy who lived in the set of rooms above theirs--attentions, I am sorry to say, I had only laughed to scorn." "Not so sure!" echoed my companion in tones of genuine disgust and horror. "Why, would you, Mr Glynn, have liked my brother to make an attempt on his uncle's life?" "That would have been better than what happened," I returned meaningly. "Why, what was that?" cried the Spaniard in alarm.