"If you know anything of auditing," she said, "you can come down and go through the books of the estate at the Court. I can arrange that." "It will do admirably. These are my plans, then. We shall require from you, Miss Thurwell, two hundred guineas to send abroad, and forty guineas a week for the services of my father and myself and our staff. If in twelve months we have not succeeded, we will engage to return you twenty-five per cent of this amount. If, on the other hand, we have brought home the crime to the murderer, we shall ask you for a further five hundred. Will you agree to these terms?" "Yes." Mr. Benjamin stretched out his hand for a piece of writing paper, and made a memorandum. "Perhaps you would be so good as to sign this, then?" he said, passing it to her. She took the pen, and wrote her name at the bottom. Then she rose to go. "There is nothing more?" she said. "Nothing except your London address," he reminded her. "I am staying with my aunt, Lady Thurwell, at No. 8, Cadogan Square." "Can I call and see you to-morrow morning there?" She hesitated. After all, why not. She had put her hand to the plow, and she must go on with it. "Yes," she answered; "as the auditor who is going to Thurwell Court." He bowed, and held the door open for her. "That is understood, of course. Good morning, Miss Thurwell." She was standing quite still on the threshold, as if lost in thought for a moment. Suddenly she looked up at him with a bright spot of color glowing in her cheeks. "Let me ask you a question, Mr. Levy." "Certainly." "You have read the account of this--terrible thing, and you have heard all I can tell you. Doubtless you have formed some idea concerning it. Would you mind telling it to me?" Mr. Benjamin kept his keen black eyes fixed steadily upon her while he answered the question, as though he were curious to see what effect it would have on her. "Certainly, Miss Thurwell. I think that the gentleman calling himself Mr. Brown will find himself in the murderer's dock before a month is out." She shuddered slightly, and turned away. "Thank you. Good morning." "Good morning, Miss Thurwell." She was gone, and as the sound of her departing cab became lost in the din of the traffic outside, a remarkable change took place in the demeanor of Mr. Benjamin Levy. His constrained, almost polished manner disappeared. His small, deep-set eyes sparkled with exultation, and all his natural vulgarity reasserted itself. "What do you think of that, guv'nor, eh?" he cried, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Good biz, eh?" "Benjamin, my son," returned the old man, with emotion, "our fortune is made. You are a jewel of a son." CHAPTER XIII A STRANGE MEETING