"No fear, dad. I don't forget the biz." "Well, well; just wait till I've gone through the letters, and we'll see what we can do. We'll see. Ha! this reads well. I like this. Ben, we're in luck this morning. In luck, my boy!" Mr. Benjamin abandoned his negligent attitude, and, drawing close to his father, peered over his shoulder. The letter which lay upon the desk was not a long one, but it was to the point. "THURWELL COURT, "_Thursday_. "DEAR SIRS, "I am recommended to consult your firm on a matter which requires the services of a skilled detective and the utmost secrecy. I am coming to London to-morrow, and will call at your office at about half-past ten. Please arrange to be in at that time. "Yours truly, "HELEN THURWELL. "To Messrs. Levy & Son, "Private Agents, ---- Street, Strand, London." Mr. Levy, senior, drew his hand meditatively down the lower part of his face once or twice, and looked up at his son. "Something in it, I think, Benjamin, eh? Thurwell Court! Coat of Arms! Lady signs herself Miss Thurwell! Money there, eh?" Mr. Benjamin was looking thoughtfully down at the signature. "Thurwell, Thurwell! Where the mischief have I heard that name lately. Holy Moses! I know," he suddenly exclaimed, starting up with glistening eyes. "Dad, our fortune's made. Our chance has come at last!" In the exuberance of his spirits he forgot the infirmities of age, and brought his hand down upon his father's back with such vehemence that the tears started into the little old gentleman's eyes, and his spectacles rattled upon his nose. "Don't do that again, Benjamin," he exclaimed nervously. "I don't like it; I don't like it at all. You nearly dislocated my shoulder, and if you had, I'd have stopped the doctor's bill out of your allowance. I would, indeed! And now, what have you got to say?" Mr. Benjamin had been walking up and down the office with his hands in his trousers' pockets whistling softly to himself. At the conclusion of his father's complaint he came to a standstill. "All right, guv'nor. Sorry I hurt you. I was a bit excited. Don't you remember having heard that name Thurwell lately?" Mr. Levy, senior, shook his head doubtfully. "I'm afraid my memory isn't what it used to be, Benjamin. The name sounds a bit familiar, and yet--no, I can't remember," he wound up suddenly. "Tell me about it, my boy." "Why, the Kynaston murder, of course. That was at Thurwell Court. Sir Geoffrey Kynaston was engaged to Miss Thurwell, you know, and she was one of the first to find him." "Dear me! Dear me! I remember all about it now, to be sure," Mr. Levy exclaimed. "The murderer was never found, was he? Got clean off?"