And Westgate went from the presence of his chief, rejoicing exceedingly on being sent on a mission after his own heart. It was therefore more than annoying that almost the first person he saw on his arrival in Genoa was Sub-inspector Brydges, Gale's under-study at Scotland Yard. As soon as he saw him he guessed that Gale had despatched his subordinate to Italy, to make inquiries about Silwood's death, and a brief conversation with the officer, whom he often met and knew perfectly, made this a certainty. Brydges made no secret of his errand. He had already wired Gale that he was satisfied Silwood was dead, and had been buried at Camajore, just as the inspector had been informed by the Eversleighs. And he saw no reason for concealing this from Westgate, after they had had some talk together in which both of them, metaphorically speaking, put their cards, or most of them, on the table. "You can take it from me," concluded Brydges, "that Mr. Silwood is as dead--as dead as Queen Anne." But Westgate was not satisfied. So he went to Camajore, saw the Syndic, the doctor, the nurses, and every one besides from whom he could get any information. The result was always the same. Silwood had died. The polite Syndic even took him to see the mound of earth under which lay Silwood's remains. "It was no good?" asked the chief of Westgate on his return to the office of the _Call_. "No good at all," said Westgate, much crestfallen. CHAPTER XVIII Upon the Eversleighs the verdict at the inquest had various effects. Mrs. Eversleigh had been completely upset by the discovery of the body of Morris Thornton in the private rooms of Silwood, her husband's partner, but she recovered quickly after the verdict, which dispelled a great multitude of nameless fears that had sprung up within her mind. The presence of Kitty at the inquest had been entirely her own idea, and it had required courage of an almost desperate sort to carry it out. Her lover, seeing the strain the girl was putting on herself, tried to dissuade her from going, but she bravely persisted. When the verdict was given, and she witnessed the relief it afforded her friends, she felt far more than repaid. At the same time, the tragedy which closed her father's life lay heavy upon her. What helped her most to bear it was Gilbert's love and unfailing sympathy. And on the girl herself all these strange and painful events resulted in materially deepening and strengthening her character. Hitherto anything of the kind had been far removed from her. With regard to Gilbert Eversleigh, he knew not what to conclude, as all attempts on his part to reason out the mystery of Stone Buildings invariably ended in confusion. He told himself that the secret of the affair was never likely to be revealed, and was not sure if he were glad or sorry this should be the case. Yet at times he had an uneasy feeling that perhaps, after all, there was more to come.