And Gerald, remembering the extraordinary chain of circumstances which had led him to the root of the mystery, could not but acknowledge that, humanly speaking, Vincenza's confidence was justified. "And now you have found this out, what use do you intend to make of it?" asked the Spaniard after a pause. "I shall publish the whole story as soon as I return to San Francisco," answered Gerald promptly. "So for a few hundred dollars, which is all that you can possibly get out of it, you will make a beggar of me." "Right is right," said the young Irishman. "This property does not belong to you." "Will you hold your tongue--or your pen--for fifty thousand dollars?" asked the Spaniard eagerly. "No, nor for every dollar you have in the world. I don't approve your practice and I won't share your plunder. I am sorry for you personally, but I can't help that. I won't oust you. I will make such use of the story as any newspaper man would make, and so I give you fair warning. You may save yourself if you can." "Then you do not intend to communicate with the heirs?" began Vincenza eagerly. "I neither know nor care who they are," interrupted Gerald. "I am not a detective, save in the way of my profession, and I shall certainly not tell what I have discovered to any individual till I give it to the press." "And that will be?" asked the Spaniard. "As soon as I return to San Francisco," answered Ffrench. "It may appear in a week or ten days." "Thank you, senor; good morning," said Vincenza, rising and leaving the room. Three days later Senor Miguel Vincenza sailed on the outgoing Pacific mail steamer bound for Japan and China. He probably took a considerable sum of money with him, for the heirs of Catalina Costello y Ugarte found the affairs of the deceased in a very tangled state, and the ranch was mortgaged for nearly half its value. Gerald Ffrench's story occupied four pages of the next issue of the Golden Fleece, and was widely copied and commented on over two continents. Larry, the groom at Ballyvire, read the account in his favorite Westmeath Sentinel, and as he laid the paper down exclaimed in wonder-- "Begob, he found her!" Lady Betty's Indiscretion "Horry! I am sick to death of it!" There was a servant in the room gathering the tea-cups; but Lady Betty Stafford, having been brought up in the purple, was not to be deterred from speaking her mind by a servant. Her cousin was either more prudent or less vivacious; he did not answer on the instant, but stood looking through one of the windows at the leafless trees and slow-dropping rain in the Mall, and only turned when Lady Betty pettishly repeated her statement. "Had a bad time?" he then vouchsafed, dropping into a chair near her, and looking first at her, in a good-natured way, and then at his boots, which he seemed to approve. "Horrid!" she replied. "Many people here?"