Dowker came at once promptly to the point. "My name is Dowker. I am a detective." Captain Dicksfall struck his hand angrily down on the pillow. "Sent by Sir Rupert, I presume?" he said with a sneer. "He wants to get a divorce, and you have come to me for evidence. I know nothing--my daughter was always a good daughter to me, and if Sir Rupert had treated her well, this elopement with Lord Calliston would never have taken place. He is to blame--not she." "I do not come from Sir Rupert," said Dowker coldly, "but from Scotland Yard." "About what?" "The death of your other daughter." Captain Dicksfall started up with a groan, and stared wildly at Dowker. "Good God! Is Helena dead?" "Who is Helena?" asked Dowker, stolidly. "My daughter--my daughter." "I thought you said you'd only one, sir." The sick man turned away his face. "I had two," he said in a low tone, "but one, the eldest, ran away with some scamp, called Carrill. Since then I have heard nothing of her, so I always say I have only one." Dowker thought for a few moments. It was a very delicate position to occupy, and, feeling it to be so, for a moment he was doubtful as to how to proceed. "Captain Dicksfall," he said at length, "I know I am only a common man and you are a gentleman; it is not for such as me to speak to you about your private affairs, but this is a matter of life or death to a human being, and, if you hear my story, I am sure you will not refuse to help me by telling me what I want to know." Dicksfall was looking at the detective with a sombre fire burning in his unusually bright eyes, then with a sigh he lay down and prepared to listen. "Tell me what you wish," he said languidly, "and, if possible, I will do what you require." Whereupon, Dowker told him the story of the Jermyn Street murder, the elopement of Lady Balscombe, and the reasons he had for believing that the two incidents were connected in some mysterious way. He also informed him of the arrest of Myles Desmond, and of the doubts he entertained concerning his criminality. At the conclusion, Dicksfall was silent for a minute, then turned towards the detective, and clasped his thin fingers nervously together. "I am a proud man," he said with a touch of pathos, "and do not care about telling the world my private affairs; but in a case like this I think it is only right I should put myself aside for the sake of clearing the character of an innocent man. What do you wish to know?" "Was Lena Sarschine your daughter?" For answer Dicksfall pointed to a small table near at hand, upon which was a morocco frame containing two portraits. Dowker took them to the window and looked at them. "Both of the same lady?" he asked. Dicksfall smiled faintly. "You are not the first who has been deceived," he said with a sigh. "No! One is my daughter Helena, who, from your story, I believe to be Lena Sarschine, and the other is Amelia, Lady Balscombe--twins."