"It occurred to me," observed Eversleigh, "that it would be well for you to take these with you." He handed them to his son. "Do you recall the contents of the Syndic's letter?" he went on. "Perhaps you had better have the translation." "I remember what he said in a general sort of way, but the translation might be a help," replied Gilbert. "Well, here it is," said Eversleigh, drawing a folded sheet from a packet. Gilbert read the translation rapidly, and asked-- "Did you ever answer the letter?" "Not beyond sending a formal acknowledgment." "The letter speaks of Silwood having left certain effects, which the Syndic says are in his possession; he asks you what is to be done with them." "I know, I know," remarked Eversleigh. "Of course, if the circumstances had been normal, I should have attended to the Syndic's letter fully. But I was in no state to do so. The letter, you must remember, came on the day of the discovery of Morris Thornton's body--was, indeed, the immediate cause of the discovery. Before that--ever since Silwood's confession--I was too upset to give my mind to business properly, and since that I have been able to attend to nothing as it ought to be attended to." And Eversleigh sighed painfully. "I would not brood on that, sir," observed Gilbert. "I cannot help it; but never mind me just now. I suppose you will leave to-night for Genoa; you ought to be there in thirty-six hours or so. Therefore you should see the Syndic, if he is at the place still, in two days from now. His letter to me gives you an opening. You can tell him I asked you to find out what effects Silwood left." "That will do very well indeed," said Gilbert. A few minutes later he bade his father good-bye, and left that evening for the Continent. In forty-eight hours he was in Camajore, and lost no time in hunting up Ugo Ucelli, its Syndic, or Chief Magistrate. Ucelli, a medium-sized man of characteristically Italian appearance, received him with extreme politeness. When the Syndic understood Gilbert did not know Italian, he conversed with him in French, a language both were proficient in. Gilbert made known who he was, and the errand on which, ostensibly, he had come. "Ah! that poor Monsieur Silwood," said Ucelli. "His was an extremely sad case. But what would you? It was the will of God." Gilbert kept his eyes fixed on the man, and studied his face closely, as if he could in that way penetrate its inmost secrets. "The cholera was everywhere," continued Ucelli, "and many died besides M. Silwood. It has been a great calamity. Alas! but it is the will of God! the will of God!" The repetition of the phrase irritated Gilbert. "A pestilence is always terrible," he said, but somewhat bluntly. "You did all you could, I am sure, for Mr. Silwood." "The best doctors, nurses, care--everything. But, alas! it was the will of God." "What a consummate hypocrite the man must be!" thought Gilbert. Aloud he said, "Was the body buried near here?"